


Through the Open Window

by sorion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case solving, Character Study, Dealing With Loss, Developing Relationship, M/M, Romance, child rearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorion/pseuds/sorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As realisation sets in, the feeling of loss penetrates John. Not a feeling he ever wanted to experience in this manner again. He breathes harshly, clears his throat and rubs his stinging eyes.<br/>“She’s…” He has to clear his throat again. “She’s not coming back.” It’s not a question.</p><p>COMPLETED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Shut Door

**Author's Note:**

> My take on this pairing after series 3. As is my MO, this will mostly be a character study and later romance. There will be occasional hints at what happened with Mary, and I won’t leave you in the dark about it. But adventure is work, and characters are play, and I’m playing in my free time :P  
> I want to see how Sherlock and John would deal with falling into a life together with a child. Feel free to join me… ♥
> 
> Since we have Sherlock’s full name, who says you can't name a girl after him (if the baby even is a girl XD)...? Pretty sure Mark Gatiss would approve of my naming choice ;)

Sherlock stands on top of the cliff and watches a boat maybe half a kilometre away rocking slowly on the waves. Not long, now, he knows… He wraps his coat more tightly around the sleeping infant strapped to his chest in a carrier and covers her ear that is not pressed against his chest with a hand.

And not long until John finds the message and comes looking for him. Once he realises that this holiday was not a holiday. It was Mary’s note. It’s what people do, don’t they?

When the blow from the boat cuts through the evening’s silence, Sherlock doesn’t even flinch. He just watches the flames consume it with a heavy sort of understanding, perhaps even respect. 

The second and louder blast makes the baby startle, but she doesn’t wake. Sherlock holds her closer and lays his lips on the top of her head in what he has come to understand is an affectionate gesture that is meant to comfort. The child apparently understands it for what it is and settles again.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turns, once more shielding the child’s ear, and before the panic he can clearly see on John’s face worsens, he says quickly but softly: “She’s not on it.”

Unable to comprehend, John stares at the boat. “What? That’s the… the boat.” It’s _their_ rented boat. The boat they have spent most of their holiday on.

Sherlock uses his free hand to grab John by the shoulder and turn him so he can see his sleeping daughter.

For a terrifying moment, John doesn’t know which _’she’_ Sherlock is talking about. “Mary?”

“Is not on the boat,” Sherlock says firmly.

John frantically looks from the burning wreck to his daughter and back.

Sherlock keeps his hand on John’s shoulder and hesitates. “They will find a body,” is what he finally says. “And Mary’s ring.”

This makes John stare at his friend. “What… what do you mean?” He knows what Sherlock means. Knows… Oh, god.

Sherlock briefly bites his lower lip and averts his eyes. He will have to hurt his friend again, and (again) he has failed to prevent it from happening.  
“John…”

John shakes his head. “No.”

Sherlock’s lips twist painfully. “John, they found her. You knew that.”

John does know that. Leaving London for a few weeks was meant to let things settle. At least, that was what Mary had told him.

“Her new identity was spreading like a wildfire…”

“I don’t care!” John yells, and Sherlock is glad that he is still shielding the child’s ear. “We could have done something! _You_ could have done something!”

The accusation pains Sherlock more than he allows to show. “I tried. Don’t you think I tried? For weeks, Mycroft and I tried to find a way to make it work.”

John’s eyes widen.

“The only other option would have been to have all three of you disappear, but Mary wouldn’t hear of it. She wasn’t going to force you both into hiding, living in constant fear that you might be discovered again.”  
_'For the first time in her life she did something for selfless reasons,’_ is what he implies, but doesn’t say out loud. He also doesn’t say out loud that he’s not sure he could have let John go again…  
“Hiding one person is more likely to be a success, especially a person with Mary’s history.”

As realisation sets in, the feeling of loss penetrates John. Not a feeling he ever wanted to experience in this manner again. He breathes harshly, clears his throat and rubs his stinging eyes.  
“She’s…” He has to clear his throat again. “She’s not coming back.” It’s not a question.

Sherlock hesitates again. “She saved you. And Mina.”

John squeezes his eyes shut.

Sherlock briefly contemplates mentioning that Mary has probably also saved _him_ , seeing as their last run-in with a foreign intelligence service who had been on the hunt for Mary almost got him killed, but then he decides against it.  
He shifts the hand on John’s shoulder. “Do you need to sit down?” John doesn’t look like he is in any state to think clearly.

John sharply breathes through his nose and takes an abrupt step back, dislodging Sherlock’s hand.  
“No. No, Sherlock, I don’t need to sit down,” he says, though it takes every ounce of strength he possesses to stand steadily, firmly. He straightens his back.  
“I…” He licks his lips, his eyes on the boat, hard and pained. “I have basically just been told that I have to bury my wife,” he rasps.

Sherlock’s lips move as if he means to speak, but then it takes a moment for the words to form. “You don’t, though,” he says carefully.

John furiously turns to glare at Sherlock, lashing out at the only person he has at his disposal. A person who has, apparently, also been aware what would happen today.  
“I just lost her!” he yells, the words still far from what he truly comprehends but still painfully knows to be true. “She’s not coming back! She will be dead to _me_! To us!”  
He adds the last part almost as an afterthought when Sherlock protectively holds Mina closer, which only serves to infuriate John further.  
He has lost his wife. He has once more been left out of the loop. And to top it off, the emotionally most inept person he has ever met thinks of his daughter before he does.

Sherlock prefers anger to grief (which he knows will follow, soon enough), but he still feels that he has the right to defend himself and his actions.  
“Mary and Mycroft thought about keeping from you that she was not on that boat. I refused to deceive you,” he says, straightening proudly. Surely, this was the right decision?

John glowers at him, smiling coldly and huffs once. “Learnt something, have you?”

Sherlock’s lips twist painfully again. Then his jaw sets. “Yes,” he says, quite simply.

They can hear sirens in the distance, and Sherlock ignores his helplessness in the face of his friend’s anger and pain, and looks at him intently.  
“John, I need you to focus. We have to keep her safe…”

A joyless, teary and painful bark escapes John’s steely smiling lips, while his throat is working furiously.  
“Yeah,” he huffs in cold humour. “Got it. Grieving husband to make sure the bad guys believe it,” he rattles out snappishly. The frightening laugh gets a hysterical edge, and tears start to leak from John’s eyes. Tears that John doesn’t notice and wouldn’t know the meaning of if he did.

Sherlock says something about sitting again, and this time, John doesn’t have the strength to protest against something he can hardly even hear. Flashing lights and sirens draw closer, and John sits and incomprehensively cries, and everything has the same dull sound of the roaring of his blood in his ears…

Function. He will have to function. He remembers _that_ …


	2. Amenable

And John does function. It is much easier than he remembers. Life doesn’t stop, it never has. Except that this time, there is this tiny person that looks up to him and smiles when he picks her up. A tiny person that knows her daddy will take care of her, because that is what daddies do, and it is all she knows.

When they return to London, John isn’t surprised to find that they are headed for Baker Street, and he can finally understand what Sherlock means when he says that he mutes people when they talk. Apparently, everything has been set up for John and his daughter. By Mycroft. Mycroft, who has had to agree to extend Sherlock’s one vow to himself and ensure the safety of John and Mina to gain Mary’s cooperation in whatever it was that he could use her for in return for orchestrating her disappearance.

But John hardly hears any of that. He lets Mina hold his finger, he feeds her, changes her and returns her smiles. Lets everything around him be.

His old room in 221B now also holds a cot, and John doesn’t question his presence in his old home. The flat is even habitable, clean and relatively safe even for a child that soon might start to crawl.  
Sherlock never protests or complains, and if the baby’s cries disturb him, he never says a word.

When John goes to work, Mrs Hudson looks after the baby; when he doesn’t work, he does the things he used to do, used to do with Mary. Go for walks and play with Mina, read her books.

He is aware of Sherlock’s presence, but – if he is being completely honest – he wouldn’t have noticed if Sherlock hadn’t left his bedroom for a week. Sometimes, Sherlock talks to him, he knows, but… but.

This time, the grief is different. There is a funeral, but it feels like a case that suddenly ends without a proper conclusion. The type where the blood is pumping with adrenaline and then it has nowhere to go. He has lost his wife, but not to death. There is a string of police and press and friends, all of which offer their condolences and sad looks directed at John and his child.

A trick. Just a magic trick. Only this time, it is permanent. There will be no big reveal in a silly costume and a moustache. The magician has made his wife disappear, and she is not coming back.

The stupor is hollow and deafening in equal amounts, but at least he has no nightmares. He sleeps. His daughter sleeps and is too small to realise what has happened. At first, it does seem like she is looking for her mummy, but she is only six months old, and seeing daddy makes her smile as sweetly, and eventually, she stops looking over John’s shoulder for someone who was once there and is now only a fading shadow that disappears a bit more until one morning, it is gone.

John’s memory is not quite as flexible, however, and neither is his perception of the present. It takes him nearly a month to finally see… everything is not as he thought it was.

*

He wakes in the middle of the night, which is unusual. He and Mina sleep well. She must be the most well-behaved baby he has ever seen. She never wakes him at night for a bottle, never makes a fuss or cries when she is supposed to go to bed… And she is currently not in her cot.

In a surge of panic – the first truly emotional reaction since the return to London – he darts out of bed and even contemplates taking his gun, but then he can hear the soft violin from the living room and sneaks downstairs (carefully avoiding the one step he knows squeaks).

He stands frozen in the door to the living room where he can see Sherlock in a robe playing for Mina strapped to his chest in her baby carrier, murmuring softly to her.

Sherlock stands with his back to John, but John can clearly see Mina’s reflection in the window. She is fast asleep, but Sherlock keeps talking to her. Words John cannot make out.

Dumbfounded, John takes a stumbling step that announces his presence.

Sherlock raises his lowered head and finishes his song softly before he turns around. For a long moment, the men look at each other.  
“John,” Sherlock greets him.

John stares some more and to his utmost mortification realises that he hasn’t looked at this man or has even acknowledged him in far too long. It hasn’t _felt_ long, but… He can see an odd hesitancy in Sherlock’s expression that has no business there, certainly not in the presence of two best friends.  
John breathes out, and his shoulders lose some tightness that has been there since that awful explosion by the sea. In the pain of his loss, he has let things slide. Again. Curious how one does not learn from old mistakes...

Sherlock looks like he has been caught by his parents with his hand in whatever the Sherlock Holmes version of a cookie jar would have been. He fidgets a bit and finally feels like he should probably fill the silence that John is unable to fill in his stupor and puts down his violin.  
“I believe she might be teething. We should buy her a teething ring in the morning.”

Realisation hits John like a bucket of ice water. This isn’t the first time Sherlock is doing this.  
“Oh, Christ,” he sighs.

Sherlock frowns, confused. “Are you… alright?” he asks, as if he’s not sure his words will even be heard.

The hesitant tone makes John’s heart constrict. What else has he missed?  
“How… how often?” is all he can say.

Mina breathes raggedly for a few seconds, obviously having cried earlier, and her dummy moves for a bit as she suckles before she settles again. 

Sherlock lays a calming hand on the back of her head and tilts his head in a minuscule shrug. “She only wakes about twice a night, usually…”

John’s eyes fall closed and he breathes out, in and out again. “You’re always doing this,” he says, looking at Sherlock once more.

Sherlock half shrugs again and avert his eyes. His lips twitch uncomfortably. “I had to make a promise to Mary that I would personally ensure that you are alright.” Now that he has started talking and John is actually listening, the words appear to come out on their own. “Not that another promise was necessary. I have made my choices a long time ago, as you well know.”

“Sherlock…” John doesn’t know what else to say or what else to expect.

“So I have researched grief and depression. And all the texts agreed that a daily schedule is imperative, so I thought that ensuring that you get the necessary amount of rest so you can continue to get up in the mornings is paramount.” He contemplates that for a second. “Distraction was also suggested, but…” he looks up and right into John’s eyes, “… you were not very receptive to my attempts.”

“God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” John is not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming this up, but he feels like an idiot, regardless. Despite his situation, he should have seen. He should have _observed_.

“It was no bother,” Sherlock says, sounding content, at ease. “She is a very well-behaved baby and occasionally helped me solve a case.”

John’s eyebrows shoot up, and the worrying image of Sherlock elaborating on the entry wounds of a corpse at a crime scene to a giggling baby in a carrier is popping up before his mind’s eye. It is even more worrying that he finds that image inappropriately amusing.  
“Case…?” he asks, weakly.

Sherlock smiles animatedly and in spite of the wee hours of the morning. “These baby carriers are very useful,” he says, pointing at Mina. “I take over from Mrs Hudson on occasion when you are gone…”

The tone tells John that it is probably more frequent than _’on occasion’_.

“… Or I carry her when I’m working at night. I can explain evidence, trains of thought and images to her. She never replies with anything stupid and always listens raptly. You know I work better when I think out loud.”

John can’t help but smile. He has missed his friend… and it saddens him that he only now realises that.

Sherlock looks heartened at the smile and returns it, though his is perhaps a bit hesitant, like a child that eventually stops smiling at a parent if the smile is never reciprocated.  
“We would very much like you to join us some time, when you’re not too busy.” And, like a child, recognition makes him come alive again.

And John decides that it’s about time to get busy with the important things again.

 

Eventually, Sherlock brings Mina back to bed, but neither he nor John is in any way sleepy, so they sit on the couch, sipping tea as the morning dawns.

Sherlock remains silent, waits for John to make the first move. Surprisingly, the quiet companionship does not wear him out as it often would.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John eventually asks. Despite the words, the tone is not accusing, just curious.

Sherlock has expected this question, but he’s still not sure how to answer it. Mostly, because he’s still not sure why he has so seamlessly stepped into a role that any rationally thinking person must have believed him to be spectacularly unsuited for. It surprises him somewhat that _he_ has never thought himself unsuited.  
“Perhaps…” he begins after a stretch of silence that John does not interrupt. “I was trying to make amends.”

John contemplates that and is about to ask what exactly Sherlock was trying to make amends _for_ , but then Sherlock continues.

“I have miscalculated your reaction to loss once before, and I thought it necessary to… help.” The last word feels foreign on his tongue. There is no other reason for his wanting to help than to be there for his friend. Nobody has requested his brilliance or his skills. “And I knew you wouldn't react well to having been deceived again.” He lowers his eyes. “But I could not refuse Mary her last request…”

John closes his eyes.

“… That of spending one last holiday with you, unmarred by what was about to happen.”

John blinks rapidly, but no tears fall.

Sherlock hesitates. “It was a good holiday…”

John sniffs, clears his throat and rubs at the two tears that manage to leak. “It was.”

Sherlock swallows. “I apologise for the deception.”

“No,” John says quickly. “No. Thank you.”

Sherlock nods absently. “You were not doing well, and I _had_ promised to be there for all three of you.” He pauses. “Once more, you have forced me to tackle a different kind of challenge than I am used to.”

John huffs a small laugh and nods crookedly. “It’s what I’m here for, apparently.”

Sherlock grins at John, and John haltingly returns it.

“She is quite fascinating,” Sherlock adds honestly.

John’s smile widens. “She is.”

“I have a spreadsheet.”

“No doubt.” Of course. Of course Sherlock has a spreadsheet. He has probably kept a record of every meal, every sound, every tiny step in her development, her weight, her size… All things he should have kept track of himself, both as a father and a doctor.

“You will be pleased to hear that her development is within the expected parameters.” He nods a tiny nod, happy with the results he has managed to gather. “Her motor function is even slightly ahead of that of a child her age.” He sounds proud, as if his caretaking is solely responsible for it.

“Am I allowed to read it?”

Sherlock’s eyes light up. “Of course.”  
He doesn't get up right away to fetch his laptop, but instead remains seated and watches John. Apathy doesn't suit his doctor, and he is glad that it seems to be lifting, bit by bit. He is aware that his research suggested that dealing with emotional trauma takes more time, but he is relieved to see clear first signs of recovery.  
For a moment, that leads to the thought of how John must have been after he lost Sherlock, and the smile wanes. To this day, he has never dared to search for records, images, or ask any of John's friends about that time.  
He does, after all, remember how badly John was coping when he first met him after Afghanistan.

"So..." John interrupts his musings. "You said you two have a case you could use my help with?"

Sherlock holds back a pleased grin (though not very successfully), and after a moment of finding his composure, he says with fake nonchalance, "Since this is your day off, I hadn't expected to take her with me." He's not looking at John, but he can see him playing along from the corner of his eyes.

"Ah, well." John clears his throat. "I suppose we could both accompany you to whatever you're up to." Then he realises what he's said. "Provided that, you know, it's not too dangerous."

At that, Sherlock turns to look at him, smirking. "Just some questioning at the Yard. It's much more interesting to question morons when they're too distracted by the baby to school their expressions."

John snorts a giggle.

Sherlock's expression grows more serious. "And I don't take her with me when I'm dashing about, obviously." He straightens in his seat. "I had Lestrade take her home, once."

John laughs. "You would make the detective inspector babysit so you can run after criminals."

Sherlock tilts his head. "He'd do in a pinch, but he just brought her back to Mrs Hudson."

John giggles some more.

Sherlock, encouraged by the laughter, adds, "There's always next time."

They grin at each other for a bit before John clears his throat and makes to stand. "Okay. I... uh... should get that teething ring you suggested while she's still asleep."

Sherlock looks oddly hesitant but nods.

John doesn't particularly like the look on Sherlock's face, the look that suggests that some part of Sherlock thinks that if he lets John walk out now, he'll be back to how he was before. So John smiles softly.  
"I won't be long."

He goes upstairs to get dressed quickly but quietly without waking the baby and then leaves for the shops.

 

In the end, it takes him longer than expected to find something that satisfies the doctor in him, and when he returns, both Sherlock and Mina are dressed, Mina appears to have been fed, and they're both looking at the wall behind the couch where Sherlock has pinned photographs.

"Ah, John, excellent," Sherlock greets him and Mina shakes a rattle and smiles from behind her dummy. "We have already identified the guilty party. Now we only have to prove it."

John nods, seriously. "You two are going to have to fill me in, then." He takes out the teething ring he bought.

Sherlock already looks at his images, again. "Steriliser is in the kitchen."

John blinks. "It's already sterilised in the box. I checked."

Sherlock raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, and John sighs.

"Steriliser," John gives in. "Give me a minute." He enters the kitchen and realises (for the first time) that it is not only clean, but... orderly. While the steriliser does its job, John checks the fridge and...  
He frowns and pokes his head into the living room.  
"Sherlock, where did your experiments in the fridge go?"

Sherlock answers without turning around. "I had Mycroft get me a laboratory refrigerator. It's in my bedroom for now." He looks at Mina's head under his chin. "Mina and I are thinking about setting up a lab in 221C, but we'd have to dehumidify it, first." He half-turns to look at John, self-satisfied. "Since Mycroft was... persuaded to guarantee Mina's safety, he might as well pay for the setup."

John's smile turns sad, but not overtly so. "Dare I even ask what he got in return?"

Sherlock only then notices his blunder and bites his lips for a moment, hesitating. "I could venture a guess, but that's all it would be." He could also probably get to the information pertaining Mary and her new identity, given enough time, but he, too, made his promises.

John nods, slowly, deliberately. "Secret service?"

"Likely."

The steriliser beeps and announces that it's finished, and John takes a deep breath and smiles bravely. "Well. We'd better get to work, then." He picks up the ring from the machine.

Sherlock, thankful for John's soldier nature, returns the smile, though it's not as carefree as before.  
"Yes, let's."

John clears his throat decisively and holds out the ring for Mina to take. Sherlock picks up a second cord where he would usually attach a dummy, deftly ties one end to the ring and clips the other to a strap of the baby carrier.

Mina immediately spits out her dummy (which now dangles at the end of its own cord) and gnaws on the ring.

John pats his breast pocket. "I also bought teething gel, and we should put the ring in the fridge for a bit when we get back, but this should do for now."  
He kept meaning to talk to Sherlock about the things one would have to keep in mind with a small child in the house, and now that he's realised that he is quite a bit too late with that, he still feels the need to communicate it, regardless.  
He looks around. "And we should pack a bag for her for going out."

Sherlock grins, amused, picks up the bag that sits next to the couch and hands it to John. "Way ahead of you." Then he marches ahead and down the stairs.

John follows. "I'm impressed with your research skills."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Everybody seems to think that I am unable to follow a few simple rules. Mrs Hudson and Mycroft talked at me for _hours_ , as if it's hard to ensure that a baby is fed, clean and warm."

John blinks, though Sherlock can't see it, and thinks about how he would have done the same, had Sherlock not proven his competence on his own.

Before he opens the front door, Sherlock turns to look at John. "She's not a potted plant. If she's displeased, she'll let me know." He looks expectant and waits.

John thinks quickly. He can think of a hundred reasons why everyone might think that Sherlock is not the ideal caretaker of a baby, and he feels bad for even thinking them. He should know better; occasionally even _does_ know better...  
Once Sherlock has set his mind, he follows it through. Once he decides that someone is worthy of his love, he is fiercely protective. Sherlock does nothing halfway once his focus lies on it.  
"It's... probably just the image of you in your suits solving crimes with a baby," he tries. "Nobody would have expected that." And, for good measure, he adds with a smirk, "Papa."

Sherlock hides his shock well at being called that, but for a brief second, the shock is there nonetheless. "Well, yes, I suppose," is all he has to say on the matter and steps outside, looking for a taxi.

 

Once they're in the car, Sherlock grins at John. "You should have seen the look on Donovan's face the first time I showed up with the baby."

John has to laugh again, and Mina grins at him around her teething ring, shaking her rattle with the other hand.  
"Please tell me someone took a picture..."

"I'm afraid not. Everybody else was busy staring too." He tilts his head. "Either that or they were taking pictures of _us_."

John's smile softens. "I think I'd like a copy of some of those if you can get your hands on them."

Sherlock's grin turns into a smirk.

"You already have them," John concludes, shaking his head.

"Of course."

 

At the Yard, John walks behind Sherlock and watches the reactions of people. Most seem used to Sherlock and Mina, which makes John wonder once again just how often Sherlock has done this.

Lestrade welcomes Sherlock with a customary look of exasperation and fondness... until he sees John follow, then he visibly startles.  
"John." It sounds more like a surprised utterance than a greeting, and the surprised look quickly turns sympathetic.

John averts his eyes for long enough that he doesn't have to see it turn to pity. He clears his throat before he lifts his head again and nods. "Greg."

Lestrade seems to understand and doesn't offer condolences or express his surprise at John having left his mental cave.  
"Uh, yeah. Good to see you all out and about," he says somewhat clumsily. He vaguely gestures at Mina. "She teething, then?"

Sherlock shifts impatiently. "Yes, and she has a bit of a temperature, so if we could be quite quick..."

"Oh, yeah," Lestrade immediately gestures them to follow. "This way."

John steps up next to Sherlock. "She has a fever?"

"No. Her temperature is just slightly elevated. Should it suddenly spike, there is something we can give her in that bag you're carrying."  
Mina babbles a few sounds.  
"She agrees," Sherlock translates.

John thinks it's best not to argue with both of them.

 

Sherlock was right (of course), and the people he questions are confused enough by the presence of an occasionally babbling baby that they let most of their guard down. It takes Sherlock no more than five minutes to have them contradict and eventually turn against each other.

Sherlock storms out of the room again in a huff and stops in front of John and Lestrade, both of whom look amused and impressed.  
"That," Sherlock says accusingly, "was disappointing."

"Babababa," Mina agrees.

"Quite." Sherlock holds out his hand. "Bag, John. She needs to be changed."

John is so startled that he can't even say that he could change her too, before Sherlock stalks off. Then again, Sherlock would probably rather change a dirty nappy than deal with wrapping up what he called a _disappointing_ case.

Lestrade seems to come to the same conclusion. "Not much for him to add, anyway. We've got the statements."

John nods distractedly, then he licks his lips and goes for what's really on his mind. "How often has Sherlock been around here with her?"

Lestrade's look is a complicated one, then he stares at his feet for a moment. "Since not long after... well. Maybe half a week after." He looks up at John. "Some people around here thought that you must be nuts to let him babysit." His voice rises a bit as if it was a question.

"You can't be surprised that I would trust him with her."

Lestrade holds up his hands. "No complaints here. It was always obvious that he takes her seriously. I'm just saying..." He doesn't really know what he wants to say.

John smiles ruefully. "You mean I should have seen their reactions."

"Heh. Yes. That was..." He chuckles. "And really, the comments stopped after the third time or so. Kid looks happy enough with him, and when things do get hairy, he leaves her at home."

John's lip quirks. "I heard you were recruited as her private shuttle service once."

Lestrade puts his hands in his pockets contently. "Worth it," he says, watching Sherlock return. "He caught that burglar. You know. The one who developed a taste for killing witnesses."

John didn't know, but he nods. He is just going to have to make sure that he will know again in the future.

Sherlock walks up to them, having strapped Mina facing towards his chest now.  
“She’s sleepy,” he declares softly, and indeed her eyelids are drooping rapidly. “She didn’t sleep well last night.” He holds out his phone to John. “Interesting case in my mailbox, we should take her to Mrs Hudson, it could require some running around.”  
Then, as suddenly as his animation has bloomed at the thought of finally sharing a case with John again, it makes way for uncertainty. “That is… if you’re amenable.”

Lestrade looks from one to the other, actually interpreting the awkwardness correctly, and he releases the breath he was holding when John answers.

“Absolutely. Definitely amenable, yeah.” He smiles at Mina whose eyes are finally falling closed. “But you’re right, let’s take her home first.”

“Before you two… three dash off,” Lestrade stops them, “can you give me a rundown of the information you’ve worked through before you came in her tricking them into confessing?”

“What for?” Sherlock demands to know. “They confessed; they gave you the information; they’re backstabbing morons; case closed.” With that, he stalks off.

John turns to follow, but quickly claps Lestrade on the arm first. “I’ll talk to him.” Then he follows Sherlock.

“John!” Lestrade calls after him, and John turns again. “Good to have you back.”

John smiles back a bit, though he still doesn’t really feel as if he’s _‘back’_ , but at least he’s decided that he wants to find his way there. Decisively, he follows his two reasons to go on out of the building.

 

When they return after their new case in the evening with only a twisted ankle, Mrs Hudson proudly showing how Mina has managed first attempts at crawling, John grins back at his daughter, feeling the solidity that Sherlock has always been to him by his side… He can do this. This isn’t the first time the rug has been pulled out from under him by a loved one. He can do this.


	3. Bluebell, Redbeard and Victor

John walks up the stairs holding Mina against his hip with one arm and a shopping bag on the other side. The soft voices from the living room had stopped while he was stowing away Mina's pram, and he is now only greeted with a heavy silence between the two Holmes brothers facing each other in chairs. Sherlock looks coldly furious and Mycroft stony. Mycroft's expression is not something that John has never seen on him, but it does lack the occasional smug amusement. Sherlock's expression on the other hand... Whatever Mycroft has said to him, he is seriously affected by it.

John steps into the living room and tries not to think about the limited selection of topics that would make both of them go silent because of him. It's a _very_ limited selection of two, but Sherlock's anger doesn't suggest that anything might be wrong with... Mycroft's latest agent. John doesn't expect to hear news - he is too aware of the dangers of a leak or even merely knowledge that could be stolen or exacted - but he is relatively certain that he would be informed of the unthinkable.

He puts on as much of a game face as he's able and even manages a smile at Mina's delight when she sees Sherlock.  
"Yes, there he is," he says. "Told you he would be up and about when we got back."  
Mina wriggles in his arms, and he obediently walks over to Sherlock's chair and lets him take her.

Sherlock resolutely ignores Mycroft and seats Mina in his lap.

John straightens and clears his throat. "And this is your uncle Mycroft." He can see the thunderous look Sherlock sends his way and raises a rueful eyebrow. "And apparently, we aren't listening to him today."  
He turns and leaves for the kitchen to stow away his purchases and can hear Mina babble at Sherlock.

Sherlock audibly softens his voice for the child's benefit, but the cold words are directed at his brother.  
"If you feel you are unable to see to the rooms downstairs be dehumidified without forcing your opinion on me, we can do without your help."

Mina receives the tone of voice but not the words, grins widely at him and then waves her teething ring at him.

Sherlock, despite his mood, returns the smile and takes the offered ring. Since she still grins at him, he quickly checks whether or not the tooth that is bothering her is already visible. It's not, but then his research has suggested that it might take longer.  
When he looks up, he almost visibly starts at Mycroft's penetrative stare.

Once Mycroft has his brother's attention again, he tilts his head. "Perhaps not, then," he says - clearly in response to something that has been discussed earlier - and stands.

Instinctively distrustful, Sherlock unconsciously moves his hands, holding Mina closer.

Mycroft turns to nod at John in the kitchen. "Good day, John. The laboratory downstairs should be ready in about a week. That should take one worry off your mind." He smiles as sincerely as he is generally able and leaves.

John takes one look at Sherlock, and he no longer has a doubt what their earlier discussion must have been about. He follows Mycroft down the stairs and stops him at the door just before he opens it.  
"Mycroft. A word."

Mycroft obligingly turns, making clear with his expression that he knows exactly what is to come.  
"Yes, John?"

John licks his lips, forcing down the anger that is slowly bubbling to the surface the longer he thinks about how Sherlock looked when he came home only minutes earlier.  
"You know I trust you with Sherlock's wellbeing," he begins, carefully keeping his voice down.

Mycroft merely raises an eyebrow.

"I always called you whenever he needed help, didn't I? I knew I could trust you to know what to do."

Mycroft shifts but still doesn't speak.

John smiles coldly. "But sometimes your assessment of him is so... _phenomenally_ off, I ..." He clears his throat and reins the volume of his voice back in. He straightens and looks Mycroft straight in the eye.  
"I appreciate your help. I even occasionally like you. But if you _ever_ tell Sherlock that he's unsuited to take care of _my_ daughter again, you are no longer welcome here."

Mycroft tilts his head in acknowledgement.

"Understood?" John presses.

"Quite," Mycroft says, smiling as if John has merely repeated what Mycroft knew in his head John would say. "As I have said to Sherlock just now... I might have misestimated. I apologise."

John's eyes narrow. "You don't have to apologise to _me_ ," he says, incredulously.

Mycroft smiles slightly but honestly this time. "I don't have to apologise to my brother, either. By admitting to the potential of an error in judgement, I have invited him to prove me wrong. I believe my assessment of him is not wrong when I assume that he needs this as much as he needs your unwavering trust in him."  
He nods once and leaves.

John remains standing for a moment, blinking. Then he shakes his head and returns back upstairs.

Sherlock and Mina are still in the chair, Mina alternately babbling and biting her ring and Sherlock paying close attention.

John comes to a standstill in front of the chair.  
"We _don't_ listen to him today," he says firmly.

Sherlock doesn't return his look and says with fake nonchalance, "His worries are not entirely unfounded, of course." He sounds every bit like the high functioning sociopath he insists on claiming to be, despite all evidence to the contrary. Evidence like the gentle hands holding the child in his lap, the flicker of his eyes that indicates that he won't ignore her if she demands his attention even for a moment, the fact that he has taken it upon himself to partake in taking care of her... his willingness to do anything - without exception or hesitation - for John.

John huffs. "I have yet to see a single thing you've done that would in any way endanger or even disadvantage Mina. You're not conventional, but then her life was never going to be that."

It makes Sherlock briefly look up.

John smiles at him. "Don't get me wrong. When you mess up, I'll drag you over hot coals." He clears his throat. "As I'm sure _you_ won't hesitate when you disagree with my own methods of child rearing."

Sherlock blinks as if it has never occurred to him that John might want _his_ opinion as well.  
"Naturally," is what he finally says, making John smirk knowingly.

"Between the two of us and Mrs Hudson, we'll manage." He pauses, hesitates. "Also... even Mycroft had to admit that he might be wrong." He contemplates that for a second when no reply is forthcoming. "I wonder what exactly he saw that made him change his mind so quickly."

Sherlock shrugs, staring into middle distance and absently taking the ring from Mina and then giving it back when she reaches for it. "Who knows. Perhaps seeing me with her in person was more convincing than a grainy image on CCTV, or he's seen that she's neither neglected nor afraid of me."

John nods slowly. He doesn't say that it might have also been that Mycroft got to see Sherlock react to _her_ , not the other way around.

Sherlock straightens a bit in his seat and draws in a sharp breath. "He voiced some barely civil concerns about me taking her to crime scenes." He huffs. "And though I assured him that I would naturally always calculate beforehand whether or not a visit to a crime scene or the Yard might be detrimental to her development and would make use of contingency plans if necessary, he insisted that I would... _forget_ ," he practically sneers the word, "when I was properly distracted by a _puzzle_ , which was bound to happen, according to him."

John steps closer and lays a calm hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "You know I couldn't have done this without you, and for the longest time, I didn't even notice you were doing it."

Sherlock finally returns the look.

"I trust you to know when she's best left out of whatever you're busy with." He grins at her. "And she adores you, so..." He watches Sherlock look at her and smiles. Clearly, the adoration is mutual, even if Sherlock still looks as if he's not quite certain what to do with that fact.

"Well," John says after a second. "How about you two do something interesting, and I'm fixing lunch." He bends to look at Mina. "We could try some of that apple purée I made this morning and see how you like it."

Mina waves her teething ring at him but otherwise remains distinctly unimpressed.

*

Mycroft visits more often after that, much to Sherlock's eternal annoyance. Mycroft also never misses an opportunity to mention how their parents would very much like for Sherlock to visit them with John and the little one.

So when Sherlock is offered to take a case in France, he almost literally jumps at the chance.

John is so happy to see Sherlock bounce about and pack for his trip that he almost doesn't regret that he won't be able to go with him this time. Of course, should it ever be truly necessary, Mrs Hudson isn't the only one who would gladly babysit for the duration of such a trip, but for one, John doesn't think that it's a good idea to leave Mina for several days after she has just lost her mother, and for another, he doesn't think he's in any way ready to leave her out of his sight for that long anyway.

However, by the time Sherlock has been gone for two days, John begins to really feel just how much weight Sherlock has been taking off his shoulders. John only has a shift at the clinic on the first day, but Mina has kept him awake for most of the night, the poor thing being in pain and exhausted and unable to properly sleep.

 

On the third day after another nearly sleepless night - the day Sherlock is supposed to return some time in the afternoon - John is feeding Mina who is now sporting her very first tooth apple purée for lunch. He smiles sadly at her new habit of looking towards any open doors whenever there is even the slightest sound.

"You miss him, don't you?"

Mina doesn't answer but dutifully opens her mouth when the spoon approaches.

Something inside John twists. "Don't worry. He's coming back. He won't leave us."

John supposes it wouldn't be a surprise if Mina was dealing with abandonment issues already, despite her tender age of nearly eight months.  
He knows that _he_ is dealing with those, if in a somewhat rough-and-ready manner. The loss of his position in the army and his job was admittedly the loss of a concept and not a person. The loss of Sherlock was a very real loss of a person that turned out to be not real at all. The loss of Mary was... a real loss in an unreal way.  
Heck, if he didn't have any abandonment issues paired with a hefty dollop of fear of loss, _then_ he'd be worried.

He knows why Mary left. He understands it, even. But after all the things he was forced to let go, he doesn't think he'd survive losing Sherlock. Not again. Not in any way. If the loss of Sherlock was unthinkable before, it is incomprehensible now, because now he knows what he would lose.

Thankfully, he is reasonably sure that Sherlock wouldn't up and disappear again, leaving John in the dark.  
Perhaps they've both learnt something.

After lunch, he brings her upstairs for her afternoon nap and has every intention to read a bit on the couch. Of course, the moment his arse hits the cushions, he's asleep himself.

 

John opens his eyes again at the first sounds of Mina waking over the baby monitor and stretches, groaning.

"Hello, John."

John grins even before his eyes fall on Sherlock who is sitting in his chair. "Look who's back," he greets him and works himself into a sitting position, groaning some more.

Sherlock grins. "Did someone keep you up at night?"

John rubs his face, smiling tiredly. "She has her first tooth and is working on her second. And she missed you."

Sherlock nods, mock-seriously. "Ah. You are blaming me for your lack of sleep."

"Well, it's usually your fault."

They grin at each other for a moment.

"So how was the case?" John asks, allowing the moment to end.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and makes a disgusted sound. "Same incompetence, different language. You didn't miss a thing."

John thinks that Sherlock is exaggerating at least a bit for his benefit but plays along. "Shame..."

That is when Mina whimpers for two seconds before the whimper turns into a wail.

Their grins turn rueful, and Sherlock stands.

"Allow me," Sherlock says, and John makes an inviting gesture with his hand.

"Be my guest. She'll be happy to see you again." John keeps an eye on the small screen of the baby monitor and can see Mina's face light up when Sherlock enters the bedroom upstairs.

 _'Hello, darling,'_ Sherlock's tinny voice sounds from the speaker. _'Did you sit up all on your own? That is a new trick.'_

John grins at the proud tone of voice and then has to swallow against the lump in his throat when he can see Mina stretch and eagerly hold out her arms for Sherlock to take her out of her cot.

Once they're both out of the picture, Sherlock turns the device off.

John breathes out harshly, leans back in his seat and rubs his hands on his thighs in a mostly futile attempt to reign in the emotions running rampant. _Christ_ , but Sherlock allowing to show emotions is something else...

He hears them upstairs for a bit longer - probably Sherlock changing Mina's nappy - before they re-join him in the living room.

Mina rests her head snugly in the crook of Sherlock's neck, one hand clinging tightly to his shirt and her dummy moving slightly with a tiny hiccup.

Sherlock looks somewhat surprised/uncomfortable/guilty at that display and runs a soothing hand over her back.  
"Perhaps... I once more miscalculated the consequences of my absence."

John can't hold back the honest and happy smile - a smile that Mina returns, though she makes no move away from Sherlock - and he shakes his head. "Don't worry. It's probably a good thing that she learns that someone can leave and then come back."

Sherlock's lips twist in dismay. "Nevertheless, it might be a bit early..." he stops that thought before he can once more remind John of what has happened in the very recent past. "I will choose cases with more care from now on."

John's smile softens a bit. "Whatever you decide, it'll be fine," he assures Sherlock. "Mina and I want the You we have, not a different You. And the You we have is one who takes cases, even if they're out of the country."

Sherlock freezes in his soothing motions for a second, his wide eyes on John, before he resumes the caresses.

"This isn't an either-or question," John continues. "Lots of people with kids go to work." He has to grin at that. "Granted, yours or mine isn't the type of work that most parents have, but nobody would benefit from you not doing what you're meant to do." He nods towards Mina. "Mina least of all. What would either of us do with an unhappy Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock stares at John for a long time.

John knows that wordless look. It's been a while since he's seen it, but he remembers it. He leaves Sherlock to his thoughts without questioning them and stands.  
"Why don't you tell us all about your case? There must have been two or three interesting bits. And I'll make us tea." He walks over to them and leans in to Mina. "And you can have fennel tea."

That rouses Sherlock from his freeze, and he rolls his eyes. "Infusion, John. She can't have proper tea yet."

John ignores him and pokes Mina's tummy, making her giggle. "I'm not teaching her to say infusion, Sherlock. It's called fennel tea. It says so on the box."

"God forbid Tesco's using accurate descriptions on their packaging."

John just snickers and goes about preparing their respective teas and/or infusions.

Mina grins widely and finally lifts her head from its nook, looking up at Sherlock, now that she's decided that he is really here and behaves like she remembers him.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at her. "Oh, and I suppose you want me to call it _'tea'_ too?"

She spits out her dummy and grins a one-toothed grin at him.

Sherlock sighs in a suitably martyr-like fashion, but not without taking note of exactly which of her teeth has managed to break free and how much of it is visible and how much longer it would take - as an educated estimation based on the first tooth - for the second to emerge.  
" _Fine_ ," he huffs. "Fennel _tea_."

The tone of voice makes Mina giggle, and Sherlock grins back before he marches towards the fridge.

"Her teething ring is in the fridge, I assume?" Sherlock asks. "There is a second tooth that is demanding to be gnawed free of her gums."

John frowns and blinks at that elaborate description. "I bought another one so we can alternate when necessary, but they're both in the fridge, now."

Sherlock opens the fridge. "Which one is sterilised?"

John turns to look at Sherlock from where he put the tea bags in their respective mugs and bottle. "The one in the bowl has been sterilised, but, really, she only used the other one for a bit before lunch, and it never fell on the floor or anything..." He stops talking once he realises that Sherlock is ignoring him.

Sherlock gives Mina the ring from the bowl and puts the other in the steriliser.  
"Since we have two, there is no reason not to sterilise them before putting them in the fridge."

John holds up his hands. "If you like. But she'll be fine, you know. Not every little germ is designed to kill."

"It's a matter of probability," Sherlock declares and sits in his chair with Mina, getting ready to tell her the story of how he has defeated whatever evil he found in France. "There is no need to expose her to germs if it can be avoided, there will be more than enough others that she encounters." He nods at the colourful blanket on the floor, littered with plastic blocks and two plushies.  
"Though Mrs Hudson and I have taken to washing things that end up in her mouth a lot with a bit of antibacterial laundry detergent. Like Bluebell and Redbeard."

John is really glad that the kettle whistles at that point and keeps him from having an overtly emotional reaction because of a stuffed rabbit and dog. He hadn't been aware that they'd been given names.

Sherlock is either unaware of John's reaction or he ignores it. "Well, that is to say, Mrs Hudson does the laundry, but I bought the detergent. And I am drawing the line at Victor when it comes to things she is allowed to slobber and gnaw on."

John nearly spills the tea water. "Victor?" He does know _that_ name.

"She likes the skull for some reason, and she is allowed to play with him but not lick him." He contemplates that. "At least not until I've done a smear test, though I'm not sure the porous surface could be adequately sterilised."

John giggles and lets their tea steep while he cools Mina's bottle under the tap. "Why am I not surprised that she likes the darn thing?"

"I was prepared to let Victor... disappear in case she was afraid of him, but I wanted to make sure first." He looks up and grins at John. "She ended up having an animated discussion with him." He tilts his head. "He did get smacked around a bit, but then he's used to that."

John puts Mina's still too warm bottle in a bowl with cold water so he can join the other two in the living room and pick up Victor. He kneels next to Sherlock's chair, and, indeed, Mina grins her one-toothed grin at Victor's full-toothed one.  
John holds back the laugh that dares to escape by biting his lips and just shakes his head.

"I admit I wasn't certain if you would approve..." Sherlock remarks.

John just smiles. "It never hurts to make unusual friends."

Mina studies Victor intently and smacks the top of his skull. "Bamba," she declares. "Ba."

Sherlock nods and enters the discussion, making sure that Victor doesn't fall down when John stands to get their tea.  
"There was a skull almost like this one in France," he informs Mina. "Though there was... some more... matter attached to it."

John pulls a face. "You found the missing aunt, then?"

"Oh, yes," Sherlock confirms cheerfully. "Of course, she hadn't only just disappeared like the nephew claimed, but has been rotting for quite a while in the back room of her own - and incredibly valuable - wine cellar."

"Charming," John rolls his eyes and holds Mina's bottle with his arm and his and Sherlock's mug with his hands.

"Hm," Sherlock hums in confirmation. "Nobody could smell anything through the heavy oak door in a dusty old cellar." He allows a smirk. "Well, I say _nobody_..."

"Well done, you," John says and hands Sherlock his mug and Mina her bottle before sitting down in his chair.

"I had it solved within hours," he informs Mina with a grave face when she looks up at him. "And I would have returned sooner if the police had allowed me into the cellar when I asked them to. Unfortunately, the security at that mansion was quite impressive." He sighs dramatically. "All in all, terribly disappointing." He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "But I'm sure your daddy will be very pleased when he hears that I was given an incredibly old and incredibly expensive bottle of wine by a thankful cousin."

John chuckles and leans forward to whisper to Mina: "Daddy is _very_ pleased, but don't tell papa."

Mina grins, but Sherlock starts as he's done the first time John has called him that.

Sherlock hesitates. "John... I don't expect..."

"Shut up, Sherlock," the response comes so quickly that John must have expected Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock's jaws snap shut.

John firmly catches Sherlock's eyes with his. "Do you plan on ditching us any time soon?"

Sherlock looks honestly aghast. "Of course not." He doesn't add that it's much more likely that John would eventually find someone to replace Mary with and then leave Sherlock. Again.

"Then you get to be papa," John says softly. "I mean, look at her." Sherlock obeys. "You already are that to her. Unless of course... you'd rather not..."

"No," Sherlock says immediately. "No, I... I don't mind."

John's smile turns into a smirk. "Just imagine Mycroft's face the first time she calls you papa."

Sherlock looks at Mina and kisses the top of her head. "We don't need his approval."

"No, we don't," John agrees warmly. "And you already have ours."

Sherlock raises his head to return John's earnest look. "You. It's always you."

"Ba," Mina says.

Sherlock blinks, and the moment is over. "And you, of course, but that goes without saying," he lets her know.

The moment lasts a bit longer for John.

 


	4. Wind in the Curtains

The first time Sally Donovan saw Sherlock Holmes strut onto a crime scene with a baby strapped to his chest, she seriously considered the possibility that she was hallucinating. Once her eyes had convinced her that, yes, Sherlock Holmes _was_ in fact strutting onto a crime scene with a baby strapped to his chest, she was sure that the moment the baby's father heard about it, that would mark the moment Sherlock was no longer allowed within a hundred yards of either of them.  
Except that it kept happening. Not that John was anywhere to be seen, but surely he must have known...

Had the same thing happened before Sherlock's supposed _'death',_ Sally has to admit that she would probably have involved child services after the first time. But... ever since it had become clear what part she had played in the undeserved public downfall of the Hat Detective, there had been a niggling sense of guilt in the back of her mind, one that refused to be ignored.

She had grievously misjudged the man once before, and her guilt vehemently insisted that she at least give him the benefit of the doubt. So she swallowed her distaste and invested in some (damn near all) of those benefits and didn't say a word about lack of appropriateness of a baby at a crime scene. (Once Lestrade had managed to get over his own shock, she at least got an approving look for her troubles.)

The baby was asleep all through the first visit. She was awake at the Yard the second time. Sherlock sensibly commandeered Lestrade to take her home when he decided that he needed to run after a killer the third time. And then there was a fourth and a fifth... and Sally wasn't even around for all of those times, or so she was told.

One thing was clear each of those times, however. The child always looked well cared for and content - happy even - in the detective's company.

 

Be that as it may, some lines must be drawn, and Sherlock and John bringing the baby to a crime scene where there is a _dead body with multiple stab wounds_ is definitely one of them. She decisively marches towards them, but before she can speak, Sherlock holds a finger to his lips.

Sally notices that the baby is sleeping, but she merely rolls her eyes and whispers, "You can't bring her inside. The body's still in there."

Sherlock matches the volume of her voice. "She's asleep and won't see a thing, and we'll take her out when she wakes up."

Sally is torn and for a long moment refuses to step aside. One look shared with John makes her deflate. "Fine. Just make sure she doesn't see anything when she _does_ wake up," she says firmly and stares Sherlock down.

Sherlock just smiles a pleasant and fake smile. "Of course." He walks ahead, and Sally falls into step with John.

"So he's the designated baby carrier, then?" She doesn't outright ask why John isn't carrying her.

"I prefer the pram," John says. "Easier on the shoulder." He pats the shoulder in question. "And you have to admit, those two are a sight to behold."

She can't even argue that point, though she's not entirely sure what _kind_ of sight to behold they are.

 

In the end, her worries turn out to be both founded and unfounded, as Sherlock only stays in the same room as the victim for a minute before he steps out again where Sally is reading a preliminary report.

Sherlock looks decidedly uncomfortable, and Mina has started looking around, wide awake.

"She didn't see anything, did she?" Sally can't help but ask.

Sherlock frowns at her. "Of course not. I was shielding her." He fidgets, as if he wants to run back inside but is being anchored by the baby he's carrying.

John calls from inside the room. "Politely!"

Sherlock pulls a sour face. "Might I request your services for just a minute?"

Sally stares at him, incredulous. "What? You want me to babysit while you poke a corpse? Just because - what? - I'm a woman?"

"What?" Sherlock gives her his patented _'I thought I knew you, and now you went and lost what little of a mind you had in the first place'_ look. He replaces the look with a frank one after a second. "Sergeant, I am well aware that you had to prove yourself against your male colleagues during the progression of your career. But surely you must be aware that Mina is currently being raised by two men, and my asking you is a matter of simple proximity and not gender. Never mind that I would prefer it if you didn't voice limiting stereotypes of that kind in front of such a young and impressionable mind."

Sally blinks and suddenly realises that this must be the most Sherlock has ever said to her, and in a weird way that almost sounds like one could possibly interpret some parts of it as a compliment or at least as if he was taking her seriously.  
She releases her breath. "Fine."

Sherlock smiles - having got what he wanted - and magics a stuffed rabbit out of his coat pocket and surreptitiously hands it to Sally.  
"Mina, this is Sally," he tells the child as he lifts her out of the carrier. "You remember Sally, don't you?" 

Mina looks appropriately sceptical, and Sally is certain that she must have copied the look from the man carrying her.

"And look, Sally has Bluebell..."

That on the other hand convinces Mina and she allows Sally to take her.

"I'll be right back," Sherlock informs Mina as she gnaws on Bluebell's ear. He straightens and addresses Sally. "If she starts fussing, we'll just have to cut the investigation short."

Sally sighs and makes herself smile at the baby. There is a reason why she never wanted any children of her own, but she supposes that holding one for a few minutes won't hurt. Mina grins back.

Thoughtful, Sally eyes the half open door through which Sherlock disappeared. It's interesting. She doesn't doubt that Sherlock would actually _'cut the investigation short'_ if need be. And that surprises her. She’s not quite sure if it’s the fact itself that surprises her or her own lack of doubt…

“Bammm,” Mina says with her mouth full of Bluebell’s ear.

Sally looks at her. “You actually like him, don’t you,” she says quietly as to not carry into the other room. She only just manages to keep an accusing tone out of her voice.  
Then she pulls a face. “And I guess he likes you too. _God_ knows how you and your dad do it…”

She turns when Lestrade jogs up the stairs and towards her. 

“Sally.”

“Boss.” She half smirks at him when he bends down a bit to greet Mina.

“And hello, there.” He looks up. “Anything yet?”

“No. They’re still inside.”

Since he apparently has some more time, he grins at Mina. “And you’re out solving crimes with daddy and papa again?”

Sally can’t hold back a snort. “Papa. You’re kidding?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so.” Greg straightens again. “I heard John call him that once.” He shrugs. “I don’t see why not. They’re both around as much as the other.”

Sally still looks incredulous when Sherlock storms out of the room with John in tow, the latter looking a bit green.

Mina grins at them, unaware of the case-related tension.

Lestrade faces them with his hands in his pockets. “Have you got anything for me?”

Sherlock pulls a face. “Yes. It was a suicide.”

Both Lestrade and Sally stare at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“Suicide?!” Sally blurts out. “You did look at the victim, didn’t you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. And if you had looked beyond the obvious, you would have seen that both the knife wounds and the sexual assault happened post mortem, and the victim clearly didn’t die here. Even you have figured out that last bit.”

Lestrade takes a step forward. “You’re saying… whoever _stabbed_ and _raped_ the woman in there just happened to come across a suicide victim?”

Mina starts fussing in Sally’s arms, and Sally really hopes it’s only because of the tone of voice and not the topic. 

John quickly takes Mina from her and rocks her gently, holding her close. “Alright, darling.”

Sherlock notices of course and softens his voice. “She didn’t die in a private space; she was outdoors. He might have followed her because he noticed her intentions, but it’s also possible that he favours the same spot-”

“Sherlock,” John interrupts his deduction. “Not the most important bit now…”

“Right. Right.” He looks almost chastised. “You’ve seen the wounds,” he tells Lestrade intently. “There are twenty-four deep knife wounds. You are looking for an extremely violent man, an angry man. And not only that, but he is letting out that anger on a stranger. It’s very likely that he will not wait to randomly find another body, now that he’s developed a taste for living out that violence…”

Lestrade pales and rubs his face. “How long do we have?”

“Generally, there is a cooling off period after a killing, except that it is a bit difficult to predict a timeframe in this case, since this has not been a killing and I don’t know enough about the would-be killer at this point. But given the violence, the cooling off period could be short, because he might soon feel that he wants to… intensify the experience, so there'd better not be a moment to lose.” His eyes gleam at the challenge, but they also flicker to the fussing and whimpering child in John’s arms, and he visibly and audibly reins in his reactions for her benefit.

Mina starts crying, making Sherlock frown and John pet her gently.

“We have to take her home, first,” John says.

Sherlock looks back to the room, following trains of thought beyond the walls and outside. “You take her then, I need to start now. Here.” He’s about to dash off when John grabs his sleeve.

“I’m not letting you run after the lunatic who did… _that_ to the victim in there,” he says low and intently, trying not to upset Mina further but making damn sure that Sherlock understands that he’s serious.

Sally can clearly see that the only thing keeping Sherlock from simply running away – as she remembers he has done the first time she has met John Watson – is the little girl.  
“I’ll… take her,” she says before the now squalling baby could make her change her mind. “She will be alright with her landlady when she’s like that, right?” she asks somewhat sceptically.

“Yes,” John says quickly and interrupts Sherlock who he can see is about to get offended at Sally’s comment.

Sherlock nearly vibrates on the spot when John helps Sally put on the baby carrier, but he still makes the time to lean in and kiss the baby’s cheek.  
“Daddy and I will soon be home,” he tells her. “And I will tell you everything about how we solved the case. Just you and me and daddy. I promise.”

Mina hiccups, keeps crying and doesn’t calm down when John kisses her either.

“Be good for Sally and Mrs Hudson, darling.”

Sally would clearly very much like to put this whole experience behind her and waves them off. “Just go. We’ll be fine. Move it.” When they don’t obey immediately, she looks at them incredulously. “ _Go_.”

This time, they run off, but neither man can leave the building without looking back to where Mina now sounds truly and seriously upset.

“Just you and me now,” Sally tells Mina. Mina is less than impressed and doesn’t even want Bluebell.

Lestrade looks at her with some sympathy, but he still grins a bit. “Make it quick. Knowing those two idiots, we’re going to have to make sure there’s backup at the ready.”

Sally just rolls her eyes and hurries to the cars outside. She’s sure that both she and the child will be happier once she’s home.

Mina even calms down on the way to Baker Street, though she’s very happy to see Mrs Hudson who is a far more familiar face than Sergeant Sally Donovan.  
She still waves at Sally’s “Bye-bye,” and the two very different ladies smile their goodbyes at each other.

*

John carries a sleeping Mina up and down the living room. Mina had to so far do without the promised alone time with her daddy and papa, but John is enjoying the relief after the case and what came the day after.  
Mina has been asleep for quite some time, but John relaxes with her warm and gently breathing body in his arms, letting it calm him in return, since he bloody well can’t carry around Sherlock to assure himself of that idiot’s continuing breathing and warmth.

All in all, the case wasn’t even all that demanding and Sherlock tracked down the knife-wielding lunatic it within seven hours. However, apparently one cannot be considered a proper detective of London without having fallen into the Thames at least once, or so crime novels would like to make the readers believe. John found it to be quite less adventurous and infinitely more frightening to see Sherlock disappear into the dark liquid. The seconds until he resurfaced felt like the proverbial eternity – especially to someone who knows just how deadly the Thames’ currents can be in the depth.

But even eternities end, and Sherlock merely ended up with a thankfully mild pneumonia and an inevitable overnight stay at the hospital out of which he could only escape the next day with the assurance that he had a medical professional living with him.

John silently walks to Sherlock’s room, swaying Mina in his arms and kissing the top of her head.  
Inside the room, he sits down next to Sherlock - careful not to jostle and wake either him or Mina - and listens to Sherlock’s gentle if a bit raspy breathing. He lays the back of his fingers on Sherlock’s brow to check the elevated but not dangerously high temperature.

Sherlock looks rather more pale than usual, and his dark hair sticks to his slightly sweaty forehead. John releases his breath. He has seen Sherlock injured, ecstatic and drugged, but never sick. It seems… inconceivably mundane for the extraordinary man.

Sherlock is not immune to mundanities, it would seem, despite his best efforts.

John’s fingers briefly wander from Sherlock’s forehead to his cheek before he decides that this is now definitely the time to go back upstairs and to bed.  
He could check on Sherlock again first thing in the morning. Mina would demand his attention soon enough.

 

Sherlock wakes the next morning to a soft, cool touch to his chest and groggily opens his eyes. John has lifted his t-shirt and is listening to him breathing with his stethoscope while sitting on the edge of the bed. Mina sits next to him and smiles at Sherlock when their eyes meet.

“Good morning,” Sherlock rasps. Despite the sound of his voice, his chest feels alright – no pressure or pain.

“See? There he is,” John reassuringly tells Mina.

“Abamm,” Mina says and pats Sherlock’s chest.

“Yes,” John agrees, smiling at her. “We have to make sure that his chest is fine.” He has clearly talked to her about it, perhaps even demonstrated the stethoscope earlier.

Sherlock takes her outstretched hand and kisses her fingers. “Smart girl.”

John grins a bit at that (and at Sherlock’s mostly clear lungs). “She got that from her mother.”

Sherlock blinks slowly, not entirely awake. “No. She’s doctor smart. John smart.”

John swallows against his suddenly dry mouth, and since Sherlock has already turned towards Mina a bit, John clears his throat to dislocate the lump there and pulls at Sherlock’s shoulder. “Turn to the side. I want to listen to your back.”

Sherlock rolls to his side without complaint – he isn’t sure if that is because he’s still ill or because Mina is distracting him, but he doesn’t care enough to question it – and feels the cool on his back.

Once John is satisfied, he takes off the stethoscope, hangs it around his neck and straightens. “Alright, sounds better than yesterday.”

“Told you,” Sherlock says, and his voice appears to be waking up a bit.

“You still need to finish your course of antibiotics,” John cautions, and Sherlock performs a watered-down version of his trademarked disgusted/annoyed noise/eye-roll.

John puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock ignores him in favour of playing with Mina’s fingers, as she has decided that she wants to eat his. “Yes, yes. Antibiotics.”

“And breakfast.”

Sherlock huffs and thinks that he might have been a bit hasty with his promise to do as his doctor orders, just as long as he could go home from the bloody hospital.

John just grins. “Just hold her for a minute, and I’ll get your meds and some yoghurt.”

Sherlock tries his best to move into a sitting position which makes him cough (away from Mina), and he frowns betrayed at his traitorous body.

“I guess your transport needs some maintenance,” John says not unsympathetically, and Sherlock rolls his eyes at him. “You can be glad you didn’t need any oxygen,” he continues, “or I would have left you in hospital.”

John returns with the antibiotics, yoghurt and tea and sits with Mina while Sherlock eats.

They sit for a bit longer after Sherlock has to admit that he no longer has a choice but to give into his exhaustion again.

“You’ll be right as rain in a few days,” John tells him as his eyes close. He hardly notices for how long he keeps watching Sherlock’s chest rise and fall, until Mina starts squirming in his lap, and he kisses her curls, which appeases her for a few moments. He sighs.  
“I’m not losing you too,” he murmurs at Sherlock’s sleeping form and briefly takes his hand. He kisses Mina again. “Neither of you,” he elaborates and smiles at her.

He squeezes Sherlock’s hand once and stands to let him rest, closing the door behind himself.

“How about I read your new book to you and Victor?”

Now that everyone is safe and he has managed to get some days off to take care of Sherlock, he can enjoy his free time with their daughter.

 

It takes him half a day to realise that this is the first time he has thought of Mina as _their_ daughter while clearly thinking of Sherlock as her other parent.

Not a thought that is new to Mina, John knows… She has accepted Sherlock as a primary caretaker long ago.  
Still, he feels guilty for the best part of that evening until he tells himself that this doesn’t mean that Mary is her mother any less (absent though she may be), and Sherlock fills an entirely different role than Mary would have.

 

“Your mother was a brave woman,” John tells Mina while he gives her her evening bottle.  
Only when the words are out does he realise that this is the first time that he has talked to Mina about her mother, and he wonders whether it's because he can only now deal with the thought that she is gone, because he has finally accepted that she is not coming back, or because he was strongly reminded of what he was allowed to keep in his life by Sherlock's fool-heartedness. Perhaps a bit of all three.  
He finds it daring to voice it, to talk about her and remember her for Mina... feels strangely relieving, like he can finally remember her for all the many reasons he loved her and not simply remember the pain of losing her and other things.

“And she loves you very much,” he adds after a moment.

Mina just looks at him with her wide, blue eyes.

John kisses her forehead. “So do papa and daddy.”

Mina stops drinking for a moment to grin at him, making the bottle gurgle cheerfully.

John has to grin back and leans down conspiratorially. “And because you and I love your papa very much, we are going to have to take extra care of him, because he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.”

Apparently, this doesn’t warrant another grin, and Mina continues drinking.

*

A week later finds Sherlock in the kitchen, looking through his microscope. His recovery had been thankfully speedy. He would still rather deal with guns, poison, knives and rivers than any illness, and he has lost not a single lucid moment to tell John so. In great detail and at length.

He huffs, annoyed, when he can hear the steps on the stairs, and he refuses to look up when the baby gate at the door out of the kitchen screeches slightly when it is being opened.

"Do try to be quiet, Mycroft," he says. "She's asleep."

Mycroft closes the gate behind himself and nods unseen at Sherlock in greeting. Then he casually walks into the living room where Mina is indeed asleep in her playpen, covered with a blanket.  
He bends over the wooden frame and peers at her, almost appearing curious.

Sherlock peeks at him from the corner of his eyes, though his eyes immediately flicker back to studiously stare into the microscope when Mycroft straightens.

"So she is," Mycroft says softly and returns to the kitchen. "Her development progresses as expected?" He sits facing Sherlock.

"Perfectly," Sherlock says and twiddles with an adjustment wheel.

Mycroft hums in approval.  
Then, suddenly, he draws in a sharp breath, as if alerting Sherlock to the fact that he is going to change the topic in a way that his little brother does not expect and quickly says, "John came to see me yesterday."

Sherlock straightens minutely but manages to not lift his eyes. "Really."

Mycroft smiles smugly. "You must have been distracted to not notice." His eyes wander to the sleeping child. "Distraction... seems to suit you."

The tone of voice that makes _distraction_ sound like _goldfish_ makes Sherlock look up angrily.

Mycroft's smile turns smugger still. "Ah. There you are."

Sherlock's jaw sets. "I assume he wanted to ask you about news of... absent friends?"

"That was my initial assumption as well."

Sherlock frowns but refuses to give Mycroft the satisfaction and ask for clarification. Mycroft would get bored of waiting before him. Just this once, he is right.

"He did state right away that he would not ask for information, as he knows well enough how pressure points work." Mycroft huffs. "Unsurprisingly." He twists the tip of his umbrella on the floor. "He is right of course. I have refused to be in any way involved in her relocation in deep cover for just that reason, and the only event in which I would be contacted would be that of her death."

Sherlock studies him for a moment. "Did you tell John that?"

"I did. He had expected as much. I did not tell him, however, that it is quite possible that her death could go unnoticed for quite some time."

Sherlock lowers his eyes. It's as close to a _'thank you'_ as he will allow himself to express. Instead, he says, "So why did he come to you?"

Mycroft smiles again, perhaps a bit smugly once more, though it is a different smugness than before. "I could be mistaken," he begins, savouring the words, "but it appeared to me as if he was seeking... closure."

Sherlock's sharp eyes study his brother, trying to decipher what the expression means. "Closure of what?"

Mycroft tilts his head. "He said that it only recently occurred to him that nobody had spoken to him about Mary's fate - at least not explicitly - and that he had merely inferred the consequences without confirmation. While he _has_ lost his wife, the reality of the situation didn't allow him to deal with that loss, so he asked for the confirmation and the finality it would grant him."

Sherlock appears to understand. "He didn't believe she would not return."

"Understandable, really. He was of course aware of the situation and consciously knew that she could not return, but his mind is a different one than yours or mine. His conscious is often liable to yield to the unconscious, as is the case with most people."

Sherlock turns his head when he can hear the soft sounds of rustling fabric as Mina turns in her playpen.

Mycroft's eyes follow the movement. "I wonder what could have caused his sudden desire to face his unconscious..."

Mina wakes and immediately rolls onto her front and then pushes herself into a sitting position, looking for the voices she can hear.

Sherlock - uncharacteristically relieved to be able to turn his back on his meddling brother - quickly walks over to her.  
"For the benefit of his daughter, no doubt," he answers Mycroft's question casually and crouches down to smile at a grinning Mina.  
"After all," he continues and stands to pick her up, "her development relies heavily on a stable emotional environment."  
He faces Mycroft with a steady look that takes much more effort than he allows to show.

Mycroft returns the look for a long moment. "Quite right," he finally says with finality and stands as well. He notices how Mina is not fearful of him but nonetheless leans into Sherlock. He smiles a curious little smile.  
"It would appear that John's unwavering trust in you was not misplaced, Sherlock."

Sherlock subtly tightens his hold on Mina.

"You have exceeded my expectations," Mycroft adds, "and in an area I never would have thought possible. Congratulations." The sarcastic undertone is soft enough to let Sherlock know that Mycroft is actually serious, despite his inability to muster up an unambiguously sincere tone.

And Sherlock in return is unable to accept the compliment. "We don't need your approval."

Mycroft's lips quirk. "You have my blessing, regardless," he informs Sherlock, making clear that this doesn't require a reply.  
He bends slightly to take Mina's hand. "Have a good afternoon, Madame Mina."

Mina giggles at him, and Mycroft takes his leave.

 


	5. Nothing and Everything

The changes after that are gradual but tangible, and Sherlock makes himself pay attention to the small mundanities of everyday life with his flatmate. Thankfully, he can keep himself from writing another spreadsheet and merely keeps the room in his mind palace dedicated to John up-to-date and orderly.

After another month, he comes to the conclusion that Mycroft might have been right (damn him), and John had indeed sought closure by demanding a spoken confirmation that Mary would not return.

Still, there was that other matter Mycroft (damn him) had brought to Sherlock's attention - namely that of John's reason behind wanting closure - and Sherlock has some difficulties aligning Mycroft's hint with the reality he has to face daily. Not that Sherlock doesn't know what Mycroft is implying. Given the degree of Mycroft's smugness, it must be Sherlock's emotional attachments. Or, more specifically, Sherlock's emotional attachment to John.  
Sherlock's attachment to Mina is a fascinating curiosity to Mycroft; Sherlock's attachment to John is incomprehensible. Mycroft can understand the caretaking of a child, to nurture it and allow it to develop satisfactorily. Well... Mycroft can understand _in theory_. 

Mycroft cannot, however, understand how Sherlock could become involved with another human being for the sake of companionship to the extent that Sherlock has allowed it. Mycroft can observe it, can see it progress, can see the benefit his brother draws from it, and he can even appreciate John in his position. He can respect and do his best to not underestimate him. But he cannot understand.

Sherlock knows that Mycroft is not above feeling jealousy, and while the reality of _friends_ (goldfish) may be distasteful to the Big Brother of the nation, the constant mocking undertones about the lack of a sexual connection in Sherlock's life and how John has nearly taken that position for all intents and purposes... that tone suggests very much that Mycroft is attempting to distract from the fact that he himself has no connection at all. And people only distract from something if the thought bothers them.

Sherlock could dismiss the comments as petty remarks without foundation, except that Mycroft (damn him) is the most observant man Sherlock knows, and Sherlock... Sherlock is observant himself, and he is of course aware of John's regard for him. That has never worried him. What does worry him is his own regard and how - as time progresses - he finds it harder and harder to ignore basic human needs of affection and love that he has done his level best to suppress in order to function more efficiently.

 

There have been many catalysts in the time since his return from the dead. Catalysts that gradually opened him to human closeness, leaving him none the wiser for a culpably long time. All of that came shattering around him when John told him he was his best friend and one of the two people he loved the most. Sherlock's reaction to that claim had left him so utterly discombobulated that he had spent hours later that evening trying to pinpoint at what point in his life he had allowed himself to care so much about someone else's regard for him. He was unable to tell. John is John is John. And John is important.

Then there was the wedding. _'Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.'_  
He doesn't like to think about the wedding, mostly because it was a testament to just how far his emotional floodgates had been opened by John Watson.

Then there was Magnussen and Sherlock's realisation that he would kill, give up his work, his freedom and his life for John Watson. He would make his very _heart_ beat for John Watson. Even more: he would give up John if he could only make John happy.  
_'Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.'_ (Shut up, Mycroft!)

Caring is not a _dis_ advantage either, he thinks one night as he picks up Mina from her cot, watching John sleeping on, trusting and trustful. 

It's not a disadvantage, merely a bit inconvenient, even if John and Mina wear on the stone wall around his sheltered emotions, water drop by water drop, bit by bit.  
His work certainly doesn't suffer. On the contrary, he has found that having these connections have taught him more about human nature, have allowed him to notice things he would have dismissed before.

He can have it all. Well. Very nearly all, as Mycroft (damn him) keeps implying. And Mycroft (god _damn_ him) of course had to be the first one to realise that - while there certainly are a great many things for Sherlock that are _'not really his area'_ \- Sherlock's area does exist, and it's not quite empty.

*

Sherlock is at St. Bart's on the day he realises that John's own area might be a bit larger than his doctor likes to let people think. It's the same day Sherlock also realises that this isn't the first time he has seen that particular expression on John's face.

It's not a special day. Mina is ten months old as of two days earlier, John has reduced his hours at the clinic three weeks ago - the three of them doing alright with the case load, John's work and an allowance from Mycroft that John isn't too proud to accept (Mycroft owes him, being the one who has made his wife disappear) - and Sherlock has been happily conducting experiments at one of Bart's labs all morning.

Sherlock is in good spirits and even chats a bit with Molly who is currently not dating anyone (sociopath or otherwise). Only when the door to the lab opens and John steps in with Mina in his arms does Sherlock remember what room he is in. It's _that_ room. The room he has first seen John in. The room that would mark the greatest change of his life.

John stands in the doorframe for a second, smiling widely and perhaps thinking the same thing.

 _'Afghanistan or Iraq?'_ Sherlock doesn't say it, but he can almost hear the walls echo the words back at him.  
"John?"

John doesn't say anything, he just looks at Mina expectantly. "Go on," he urges her softly and points at Sherlock. "See? Who's that there?"

Mina grins. "Baba!"

Sherlock freezes. When he hears a clinking sound and looks at the table in front of him, his pipette rolls before it stills, his numb fingers never having noticed that they let it drop.

"Baba," Mina repeats, waving a hand at Sherlock.

Sherlock shakes off his shock and strides over and takes her from John, holds her high up and makes her squeak happily before he's hugging her tight and kissing the top of her head. "You brilliant, brilliant child," he murmurs into her blonde locks.  
Somewhere behind him, Molly is sniffing, and Sherlock himself has to blink rapidly a few times as well.  
"Did she say your name too?" he asks John.

John is grinning so widely at Sherlock's joy that the question takes a moment to register. He clears his throat.  
"She saw your picture in the papers and said it. I just packed her up and came over in the hopes she would do it again."

Oh, that just wouldn't do. He kisses Mina's forehead and murmurs, "But you know who that is, hm?" He points at John. "You know daddy."

Mina looks at Sherlock intently and then follows his finger. "Dada," she says and quickly hides her face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, peeking out at John with another wide grin.

If John's expression is any indication as to how Sherlock looked a moment earlier, _'gobsmacked'_ doesn't even come close.

Only the blink of an eye later, John is with them, one hand running through Mina's hair and over her cheek, the other holding firmly onto the back of Sherlock's neck.

Both men first beam at the child and then at each other... and there is so much of something, _too_ much of something that John has to look away for a second before he can look back with a more controlled expression.

And Sherlock remembers this; the look, the uncertain move of the head, the undeniable and visible emotion. He remembers the wedding. Remembers the hold John has on him, both physically and metaphorically.  
He softens his wide smile into something more manageable. And he does manage, only just.

But now he has to face a truth he has so far resolutely pushed out of sight. He will have to visit his mind palace and assess the situation objectively. As has become painfully obvious to him now, ignoring that truth could lead to it erupting to the surface in a most likely inopportune and possibly damaging moment.

*

_Must tread carefully, Sherlock. Every step. Mustn’t miss a nook or cranny. This time, every bit of normally insignificant information can turn out to be vital._

_His ever-present taunting shadow walks behind him._

_"Well, then, Sherlock," Mycroft murmurs into his ear. "Here we are again. Lost as you ever were."_

_Sherlock doesn't turn around and keeps walking. "If you've got nothing useful to add, go away."_

_"Ah, but this time, dear John can't be consulted, can he? Not when he is the reason for your visit."_

_Sherlock's steps don't falter and he soon finds himself in front of two rooms. Are both needed? Quite possibly. Which room first? He chooses the left one._

_Mycroft huffs into his ear. "Evading, Sherlock?"_

_"Hardly," Sherlock replies and enters the room. "I need to analyse my emotional compromise from a different angle first to avoid falsified results."_

_"You keep telling yourself that, little brother," Mycroft says amused, but he follows him anyway and looks around. "Quite the collection…" he remarks. "But only cold and hard facts, no reflection of your emotional compromise."_

_Sherlock studies all the data he has collected about Mina, all the folders containing steps of her development, moving images, still photographs. He runs a finger over the edge of a picture of the child smiling widely at him. The date suggests that it has been a week after her move into Baker Street. Sherlock smiles._  
_"Is that so?" he asks and turns the picture around._

  * _mild euphoria upon having elicited a giggle_
  * _attachment clearly mutual, possibly (surprisingly?) verging towards co-dependency_
  * _inexplicable (note short time period); close proximity for eight days should not cause such reactions in an average adult (never mind an exceptional adult)_
  * _potential reaction to attachment to John; direct result of vow to protect child?_
  * _**supplement:** clearly not a reaction to any other influence but the child herself_
  * _euphoria intensified by holding the child close; her blatant expression of trust adding to the experience_
  * _**supplement:** accumulation of sensations causes urge to express affection by kissing the top of her head; no rational reason to resist; do not resist; child reacts favourably_



_Sherlock leafs through more data and evidence. More traces of the importance of this small human that has ensnared him despite his vocal insistence that he was incapable of such things. He picks up sheet music to which Mina has responded well when he played it with his violin. He turns around the piece he was playing the night John has discovered Sherlock and Mina in the living room in the middle of the night for the first time._

  * _**supplement to previous musical experiments:** music has strong effect on Mina when I play; much stronger than when I merely play a recording_
  * _have now repeated result that I am more affected when playing for another person (see subjects for reference: John, Mina)_
  * _the same effect cannot be recreated with other listeners (see subjects for reference: Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson - **note:** experience is not necessarily negative, but positive emotional response is absent)_
  * _**supplement:** did not notice the use of "emotional" under previous item until entry was completed; curious_
  * _**supplement:** John has joined us; response clearly emotional_
  * _**note:** response should be analysed further at later date (see subject for reference: John)_



__

_Sherlock lowers the sheet and stares ahead._

_Mycroft gleefully circles him. "Forgotten about that, have you? My, my. I'd say it's about time you faced your emotional fallacy."_

_Sherlock eyes the door he knows leads into John's room. His mind-Mycroft - taunting as he may be - is right, and Sherlock knows it. That's why he is here, after all. Except that in the other room, he will not only have to face his own emotions for one John Watson, but John's emotions for him…_

_He holds out the sheet music for Mycroft to take. "Goodbye, Mycroft," he says, opens the door and enters the other room, resolutely leaving Mycroft behind._

_And this now leaves him with nothing but himself and a mind full of John for company. He takes a deep breath and steps deeper inside._

_The room is vast and holds much more information than he would deem necessary for anyone else. Even information that he himself thinks should be deleted due to irrelevance has been crammed into a designated closet so that he could find it again when necessary. Hm. He might have to revisit that closet, just to be sure._

_To the side, he can see the door leading to Mary's room. It's password protected even from his own mind (a neat trick that took him years to develop), just to ensure that he does not blurt anything in front of John. He knows that there is information about Mary inside that John doesn't need to know. Sherlock keeps his conclusion that Mary has truly loved her husband at the forefront, while making sure that John will never know what else is hiding in there and what parts she has played in-_

_Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and turns away. The password can only do so much, and he doesn't want to have to lock everything again from scratch. (It has taken him days, the last time he had to separate the information pertaining to her that should remain hidden from the everyday knowledge he needs.) He can only access that particular part through John's room to remind himself that there should be a really good reason to access it in the first place, and nothing short of saving John and Mina's lives must be that reason._

_Sherlock doesn't expect it to become necessary. Not after the promise he has received from Mary in return for his own promise to always be there for the two people who are most important to both of them. Mary is gone, and the information therefore not relevant._

_Sherlock focuses on another part of John's room. The part in which Sherlock has catalogued John's emotional responses and indicators._

_'He's a romantic.'_

_'The two people that I love and care about most in the world.'_

_'I never expected to be anybody's best friend.' Sherlock still can't understand how anyone would consider him such, and the thought definitely stirs an emotional reaction within him that spreads from the middle, which is curious, seeing as he is currently in his own head. The mind is a fascinating thing._

_'The two people who love you most in all this world.' He has said that with no hesitation or doubt. He knows that John loves him and that he loves John just as much. (Whether or not it is in the same way remains to be seen. That is the reason for his visit, after all.)_

_He will need to go further back. It stands to reason that once their friendship was established, John would be invested as much as Sherlock to retain the status quo._

_'One more miracle…'_

_Sherlock stops that thought before it can fester. He has grievously miscalculated John's reaction to his death, and he supposes that everyone who thought that Sherlock could become too caught up in a case or puzzle to take care of a child has ample reason. His own death was never real to Sherlock; it was very real to John. And Sherlock knows that if he ever believed John to be dead, it would kill him._

_'Look how you care about John Watson.'_

_"GO AWAY! You have no right to be in this room!" He firmly shuts Magnussen away and breathes deeply. Further back…_

_'Fantastic! Amazing! This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done…'_

_Sherlock has to smile._

_'You don't have a girlfriend, then?' - 'Do you have a boyfriend?' - 'Right. Okay.'_

_Sherlock blinks and rewinds the mental tape of their first dinner. He watches John's reaction closely. How John smiles and licks his lips, how that look - that, if he'd seen it on anyone else and directed at anyone else, could only possibly mean that John was flirting - caused a reaction in himself at the time that he simply didn't know what to do with._

_Sherlock stops and frowns. He hasn't examined this moment since it happened. Not once. He has merely put it down as him being unable to read interpersonal reactions quite that well and that he misunderstood the signals. Now, however, he knows John Watson and his facial expressions very well. Perhaps he should examine physical expressions of John's emotions instead of words._

_Still… it is curious that John would shoot down Sherlock's initial assumption so quickly._

_Facts, Sherlock. Look at the facts._

  * _army doctor, recently invalidated home from Afghanistan_
  * _living in cheap bedsit_
  * _second-hand phone given to him as a gift_
  * _severely isolated_
  * _physical and psychological trauma_
  * _illegal gun; seeking purpose, stimuli_
  * _'That… was amazing.'_



_Sherlock blinks. Of course John would not dare to risk the very first intriguing connection he was able to make in his dull little life. Not on the very first day he was allowed to feel alive again after the war._

_Much like Sherlock, John must have locked that part away in the hopes that he could build on what was within his grasp._

_And now Sherlock has realised that he can no longer just ignore that part, because the continuous and intense emotional responses elicited recently make it harder and harder to separate the two, and Sherlock fears that he might do something inadvisable very soon. Perhaps the next time he and John share a parental moment with Mina._

_Dada and papa. That is who they are now, and Sherlock still can't quite believe it. He wanted to kiss Mina and then John. Because that is what parents do; Sherlock knows that much._

_But how to predict how John will react if he makes his emotions plain?_

_"Perhaps," a voice says behind him, "it's time you went to your own room to see what it is that you really want."_

_Sherlock sighs and turns to face John. "What would you know? You’re a figment of my imagination."_

_John grins at him. "To be fair, your imagination is very detailed and elaborate." The grin softens into a look Sherlock has seen directed at himself so many times. "What do you want, Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock, annoyed at himself, bites his lips and turns away for a moment before returning to look at his iteration of John. "How am I supposed to know? This is not my area, and there are expectations, demands John will make…"_

_"Are you unwilling to meet them?"_

_Sherlock deflates. He doesn't think so. Not anymore. On the contrary, but…_

_"Then why don't you just tell him about **your** expectations and what **you** want and then let him decide for himself."_

_Sherlock, clearly in agony, shakes his head, no longer able to look at John's mirage. "I could not bear to lose him and the child. I couldn't."_

_"Do you honestly think that he would cast you out for loving him? John Watson? Who would kill for you and stand by you when you're the one to pull the trigger?"_

_Sherlock stands, unmoving. "John Watson who will marry again if given the chance."_

_Mind-palace-John tilts his head as John does sometimes when he realises that Sherlock has missed something that is only obvious to ordinary people._  
_"Not if he wants to have you instead and you let him know that he can."_

_Sherlock raises his eyes again._

_"John will not leave you for loving him, but there is the chance that he might return your feelings."_

_Sherlock stares through him, allowing the possible consequences to flow freely in his mind._

_"Perhaps it's time you tell him what you wanted to tell him at the airport."_

_Sherlock lifts his chin defiantly. "I wasn't going to burden him with that knowledge and then walk into my death. He was supposed to be **happy**! That was the whole **point**!"_

_Mirage-John smiles and slowly dissolves._

_"John!"_

 

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinks and realises that he is still lying on the couch.

"There you are." John smiles at him from his chair.

Sherlock rubs his face and feels his hand come away slightly sweaty. He sits, still feeling somewhat disoriented. _'You can no longer risk waiting, can you, Sherlock?'_  
"She's asleep?"

John smiles and nods at the darkness outside the window. "She's been asleep for two hours."

Sherlock blinks and follows John's line of sight. Oh. It's been that long, has it?

"You were completely immersed from what I could tell, so I let you be."

Sherlock's eyes focus and the last of the mist dissolves. John. Perfect, complementary John.

John of course notices Sherlock's preoccupation. "Alright?"

Sherlock nods. _'You can no longer risk waiting.'_  
"Yes. But there is something we need to talk about."

John readily straightens in his seat and puts away the book he's holding.

"Could you… could you join me?" Sherlock asks. He needs to be able to see the slightest change in John's expression, and while his sight is excellent, he might miss a cue at this distance.

John frowns and stands, now clearly worried. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asks and walks over to the couch before sitting down to Sherlock's right.

"I sincerely hope so," Sherlock begins (knowing damn well that he's stalling, but still thinking that it's probably better to not burst out his question without due warning). "All the information suggests that things have the chance to be alright, but I'm afraid some guesswork is still necessary."

John grins a bit. "I thought you never guess."

Sherlock has to grin back at the quip. "I'm willing to make an exception in this particular case."

"Must be important, then…"

Instead of another joking remark, Sherlock remains quiet for a few seconds. "It is."

John frowns again and puts a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighs. Physical proximity. There has been so much physical proximity between him and John. So much. Not nearly enough.  
"You know how very much I love Mina," Sherlock says, staring ahead.

John removes his hand but turns in his seat to face Sherlock as much as he can while sitting next to him. "Of course I do."

"And that I could not bear to lose her."

John, uncomprehending, frowns again. "You won't lose her, Sherlock. I would never do that to you. To her."

Sherlock takes a deep breath. "Over the past months, I have noticed how it was becoming increasingly difficult to emotionally detach myself because of my affection for her. She was…" he smiles a bit, showing that he doesn't mind, "… wearing me down." He shrugs. "That was never much of a problem, since I rarely care enough about someone that there would be something to control, and whenever I do care, detachment is not necessary."

John still doesn't appear to understand where Sherlock is headed with this. "Okay. That's… good."

"Until today," Sherlock continues.

Comprehension dawns on John's face. "Ah. Because I was touching your neck?"

Sherlock doesn't respond. Obviously, John has felt the charge between them, just as he has. And Sherlock already knows that John must have felt it at the wedding.

"I'm sorry," John says, averting his eyes (much in the same way Sherlock does when the emotions get overwhelming) and slightly shifting away on the couch. "I know you don't like being touched."

"Oh, for god's sake, John! That's not it!" Sherlock bursts out, before he can reign himself in and approach the subject with more tact. "It's not that I don't want your touches; it's that I want them too much!"  
  
... ... _'Well, shit.'_ Clearly, Sherlock's emotional restraint has become even more frail than he had previously realised. He can feel his system flood with adrenaline, his heart beating like a fleeing rabbit and every inch of him getting ready for battle.  
He wonders what John's body is going through right now and if it is as frightening to John as it is to him. He dares to peek at John from the corner of his eye. But he needn't have been careful; John is staring ahead, controlling his breathing. Thankfully, John isn't moving away, either. Not even unconsciously leaning the other way.

"Well…" John says, still staring into nothing and clears his throat. "That's… a surprise." He doesn't add, _'to put it mildly'_. That part rather goes without saying. Then he blinks and turns his head to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes flicker to his right, before he quickly averts them again. He forces himself to calm down. John doesn't look as shocked as he could have, nor as repulsed as Sherlock has feared he potentially might…  
Sherlock releases his breath. "John, erm. This doesn't have to change anything between us," he says and is surprised to find that he means that, and his voice sounds accordingly much calmer already. While he would prefer for things to change, he would be content with the way things _are_.  
"It just became glaringly obvious today that I need to make you aware of… the situation. To… clear the air, as it were."  
When he turns his head again to read John's expression, his doctor is looking at him steadily, observantly.

John smiles softly, his eyes wandering from one of Sherlock's to the other. "To let me know what it does to you when I touch you in an emotionally charged moment."

"Yes," Sherlock all but exclaims in relief. Leave it to John to know the right words with messy businesses such as this one.

John briefly looks at Sherlock's lips before he makes himself look away again. Sherlock still catches it.  
"Sherlock, I…" He sits up straight and rubs his palms on his thighs. "Christ."

Sherlock is somewhat relieved to see that he's not the only one affected.

"I… thought this wasn't your area," is what John finally says.

"If you remember correctly, I said that _girlfriends_ weren't my area."

"Well, fuck, Sherlock, you were still pretty quick to shoot down my flirting that day."

"And you were pretty quick to assure me that you weren't flirting."

John just stares at him helplessly.

"John…" Sherlock frantically searches for the right words. "You're right. I did… shoot down your flirting. But, well, I…"

John relaxes a bit and has to smile again. "Yeah, you probably didn't know what to do with that situation."

Sherlock nods firmly. "Well, I didn't. I'm not good with people. And it's usually very easy to dismiss advances, but you were unexpectedly intriguing, and I didn't want to risk losing the possibility of exploring whatever it was you were further."

"You were right."

Sherlock nods again. "And I was right."

For an eternally long moment, John just studies Sherlock. "For how long have you considered… this?"

Sherlock shrugs uncomfortably. "I have realised very soon that I wouldn't have minded changing or… _shifting_ our connection. But I was very comfortable with what we had. I still am," he adds quickly.

John nods along with the words. "What about the wedding?" he asks.

Sherlock perks up. He was right about John noticing their _'emotionally charged moment'_ both today and at the wedding, then.  
"I always assumed that… you might have read me correctly that day."

John has to look away for a moment and breathes out. "I think I did." He closes his eyes. "But I couldn't draw attention to it. That would have been cruel, just in case I was actually right."

"You handled it well."

John sighs and shakes his head. "I never meant to hurt you. I never thought that this was a part of me you were interested in."

"I never intended for you to know."

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock huffs, annoyed. "I just said I didn't want to let you know. You can hardly blame yourself for that." He has turned towards John without noticing and startles when he sees the man return his look.

John studies him for a moment longer and then squares his shoulders, apparently having made a decision.

Sherlock tenses.

"And now we're raising a child together," John says, "and I…" he clears his throat, "… couldn't love you more if I tried." He keeps his eyes firmly on Sherlock.  
Very slowly, John lifts a hand to Sherlock's face and gives the man every chance to turn his head before he cups his cheek.

Sherlock can feel another surge of adrenaline rush through his system. It makes him shiver, his hands shake and his pulse spike.  
"John…"

John - steady, reliable, true, fearless John - evenly smiles at him. His hand doesn't shake at all.  
"Alright?"

Sherlock knows that this should mean that _everything_ is alright, but John was also right about this not being his area, and Sherlock is very much out of his depth.  
"Please, John…"

John moves closer, his thumb gently running along the contours of Sherlock's cheekbone as if it has always wanted to do that.  
"Yes?"

Sherlock has to swallow dryly. "Please, be certain. Please. I couldn't…"

John's eyes widen and a giggle bursts out of him that sounds like all their days together. The good ones, the bad ones, the amazing ones, the everyday ones.  
"Certain? Sherlock…" He giggles again, and then his lips are on Sherlock's without either of them noticing the other move.

Sherlock no longer knows whether he is shaking or the world is rocking, but his focus is crystal clear and on a small patch of skin that John is caressing with his own. Once he becomes aware that they are actually two people and not a merged single one, he moves his lips by mimicking what John is doing.  
It can't be wrong, considering what this tiny move is doing to him, flooding his body with all sorts of chemicals.  
It can't be wrong, because of the soft, keening sound emerging from John's throat.  
And when has John's hand moved to the back of his neck again?

John breaks the kiss but breathes against Sherlock's lips.  
"Alright?" he asks once more.

Sherlock can only nod. He cups John's face and pulls his smiling lips into another kiss. It's a soft kiss, an innocent kiss, and Sherlock knows that there will be deepening intensity at some point. He knows that there are more things… things of which he hardly knows anything. Things they will need to discuss.  
But he can't make his head stop spinning, and he doesn't want to make himself stop kissing.  
His rocking world tilts, and his back is being laid back onto the soft couch cushions, John bending over him and looking at him as if Sherlock is granting him another miracle.

John brushes dark locks from Sherlock's forehead with both hands and incredulously shakes his head.  
"You…" is all he can say.

Sherlock has to smile. "Me."

John huffs a soft chuckle and leans down for another kiss. This time, he does eventually run the tip of his tongue over Sherlock's cupid's bow of a mouth, making him quiver before the deepening of the kiss is tentatively returned.

Sherlock feels as if his insides liquefy and wonders if this is what everyone feels when they are kissing, and if this is the reason they pursue it with such ferocity.

After not too long, they are interrupted by a tinny whimper that doesn't belong to either of them, and they break their kiss, chuckling hoarsely.

John rests his forehead in the crook of Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock cups the back of John's head.

Mina's displeasure over the baby monitor turns more prominent.

Sherlock kisses John's temple. "There will be things we should discuss."

John nods and lifts his head. "Hm," he agrees. "Something tells me we'll make it work."

Sherlock smiles a wide, happy smile, and they move into a sitting position before he gets up.  
"I'll get her," he says and walks up the stairs (somewhat proud of himself for managing the steps without falling over his rubbery feet).

And John is glad for it. He's not entirely sure he would have been steady enough to handle stairs and a baby. He remains seated and keeps breathing through the radiating heat in his chest, softly running a finger over his tingling lips.  
Well, damn. This is… He doesn't know what it is, apart from everything.  
Then he hears Sherlock pick up Mina and talk to her.

 _"Guess what just happened,"_ Sherlock whispers at her giddily, while John is listening via monitor. _"Daddy kissed me."_

John grins widely. "Fucking hell," he murmurs. "I did."  
He feels a brief surge of panic but forces it down. They'll make it work. After everything they went through, this is nothing. And everything.

 

_TBC_

_*_

_HAPPY 38 th BIRTHDAY, BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH! ♥_


	6. Something and Anything

When John slowly comes awake the next morning, it takes a moment for his brain to catch up with the events of the previous night. He blinks open his eyes and has to smile at seeing drawers and a lamp that are decidedly not located in his bedroom.

 

After Mina had fallen asleep again the night before, John had very carefully approached Sherlock with the suggestion that they might share a bed. ( _"Nothing has to happen… actually, I'd even prefer it if I had some more time to get used to things… but I'd… very much like to know I wasn't dreaming when I wake up tomorrow."_ ) And Sherlock had agreed with an endearing sort of hesitancy he rarely showed.

Some more kissing _did_ happen and with it the confirmation that their bodies at least wouldn't be adverse to eventually explore each other further, once both their heads were firmly wrapped around their new situation. Despite (both) their best intentions, they had eventually fallen asleep.

 

John can hear Sherlock behind him, murmuring lowly to Mina who is commenting every now and again, and his smile widens. He rolls onto his back, seeing Sherlock sitting against the headboard with Mina in his lap, reading a book to her that Sherlock has deemed to not be a complete waste of time and developing brain cells.

Mina is still looking at her book intently, but Sherlock turns his head with a shy smile, as if he was still testing the waters and trying on a sort of contentment with his existence that is unfamiliar to him.  
"Good morning, John."

"Morning, you two."

Now Mina turns to grin at him and babbles animatedly about the book Sherlock is holding.

John moves himself into a sitting position next to Sherlock and runs a hand through Mina's hair. "Is papa reading you your favourite story?"

Mina babbles a few more pointed syllables (and is probably agreeing with him), and then proceeds to look at her book, patting it.

This gives John a moment to face Sherlock. "It just occurred to me…"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"That I can kiss you whenever I want to now." So he does, but the kiss remains a short one, and he kisses Sherlock's cheek before moving towards the edge of the bed.  
"I'd better brush my teeth too…"

Sherlock smirks. "You do that." He watches John walk around the bed and to the door, allowing himself to imagine the body beneath the shorts and t-shirt, if only for a moment.  
"And Lestrade texted. We might have a case lining up."

"Ah!" John gasps histrionically. "Kissing _and_ a case. It must be Christmas!"

Sherlock grins at John's back as he leaves, then he slowly breathes out and blinks when he sees Mina peer at him thoughtfully. He leans down conspiratorially.  
"So what do you think?" he asks lowly as not to carry any further than her ears.

Mina looks at him for a second longer and then pats her book again. "Adabamm."

"Ah, yes, of course. We must focus on the important things. How silly of me."

By the time they have finished the book, John is showered and dressed and preparing breakfast.

Mina insists on having a banana, and John insists that Sherlock is having some toast with his tea at least.

"You're not technically _on_ the case yet," he lets Sherlock know.

Sherlock rolls his eyes but eats the toast anyway.

John eats his own piece of toast and eventually clears his throat. "So, uhm, Sherlock… I should probably ask…"

Sherlock looks up.

"Before we go out, that is," John adds. "What I should be expecting when it comes to, you know, public displays of affection…"

Sherlock blinks. "I… haven't given this much thought."

John smiles ruefully. "Because you don't give much of a shit how others see you."

"I care how _you_ see me."

John props his elbows on the table, folds his hands before his lips and studies Sherlock for a bit, still smiling.  
"You're right," he finally decides and returns to his tea. "We'll just make it up as we go along."

Sherlock nods almost imperceptibly.

"Just let me know if I'm doing something you're uncomfortable with."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him. "Out of the two of us, I think I'm much more likely to be the one to do something that makes the other uncomfortable…"

John snickers and rubs at one eye. "True, but I'm used to you and your antics, and you might find that you're going to have to get used to… this." He gestures between the two of them. "Or maybe you don't. We'll see."

Sherlock nods, apparently happy with that assessment. Then he tilts his head, smirking. "If we kiss in front of Lestrade's lot, some of them might faint…" He raises his voice at the end almost hopefully.

John snorts. "Or they'll irritatingly refuse to be surprised at all," he says, playing along.

Sherlock doesn't seem to like that everyone except him might have seen this coming and frowns.

"We could just wait and see how long it takes them to figure out something's changed," John continues.

 

In the end, Sherlock is happily busy with the case for most of the day, nobody kisses anybody, and bystanders remain accordingly oblivious.

It takes until the cab ride home that Sherlock even remembers that something could have been different today and then wasn't. He is still deconstructing details of the case in his head when he suddenly startles in his seat and turns towards John who is looking out the window.  
Uncertain whether or not he has caused John some distress by not acknowledging their relationship status during the investigation at all, he tentatively reaches out for John's hand and lays his own on top of it.

John returns Sherlock's look with a smile and no uncertainty or distress at all.  
"Hey…" John says softly and turns his hand to take a hold of Sherlock's.

Sherlock still feels like he should explain…  
"I'd… been afraid that perhaps the change in our connection would prove to be a distraction…"

John's smile widens a bit. "Didn't happen, did it?"

Sherlock shakes his head, surprised at the realisation. "It was much more distracting to ignore the potential, actually."

John entwines their fingers. "That's good."

Their hands stay where they are for the remainder of the ride, and Sherlock smiles at the passing streets and cars and houses. He _can_ have it all.

Sherlock's mind slowly coming down from its case high and remembering the corner dedicated to John also means that Sherlock is becoming increasingly aware of the connection through their hands and the fact that kissing would be an excellent way to work off some post-case jitters.

The five minutes to Baker Street prove deliciously frustrating in the face of possibilities, and Sherlock has to grin to himself.

Once there, he all but throws the money at the driver and drags John out of the cab and into the house.  
Only seconds after the door falls shut behind them, he backs John up against the wall, frames his face with both hands and watches his pupils dilate and his breathing speed up.

John manages to murmur a dark and hoarse, "Yes," and then Sherlock shows him what he has learned about his tongue the evening before. Only that this time, it's not enough, not nearly enough.

John's hands sneak under Sherlock's heavy coat and open his jacket so his arms can wrap around his middle over the silk shirt.

Neither of them notices the light being turned on or can hear the steps coming down the stairs until…

"Oh!"

They break apart, breathing heavily and giving a very good impression of two schoolboys having been caught by their mother when they see Mrs Hudson on the landing halfway upstairs with the baby monitor in her hand.

She tuts. "Really, boys, you do have your own rooms for that."

Sherlock demonstratively clears his throat and straightens. "Apologies, Mrs Hudson," he says but can't quite keep a straight face as he practically bounces up the stairs towards her, takes the baby monitor and kisses her cheek.  
"Thank you," he murmurs softly.

She smiles benignly and swats his arm. "Upstairs, both of you, and do keep it down, she just fell asleep."

Sherlock peeks at John over his shoulder before he does as he's told.

When John reaches her, she holds him back by his arm.

He returns her look expectantly, and she hesitates for just a moment.

"Take care of that big heart of his," she says warmly but seriously. "You know he has no clue what to do with it."

John looks past her to where Sherlock is waiting for him at the top of the stairs.  
"I think he's doing well enough, but of course I will."

Once John's upstairs, Sherlock has stowed away his coat and is in the living room, so John does the same with his jacket and joins him.

The urgency has clearly lessened, but Sherlock still pulls John closer and into a slow kiss without preamble.

John ends it (too soon) and grins against Sherlock's lips. "I guess that was one person who wasn't surprised…"

Sherlock momentarily forgets to be annoyed at John interrupting the kissing and snickers. "Probably not since day one."

John shakes in silent laughter and rests his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder for a second. "You should have heard her reaction when I told her about Mary."

Sherlock can imagine, but… "What did she say?"

John mimics her outraged voice. "A _woman_?"

Sherlock has to laugh. "Even though you did, quite frequently and vehemently, deny that you're gay…"

"Well, I'm not," John says, lifting his head to look at Sherlock. "I always knew there was something about you, and I've had some… experience, but…" He sighs. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable with the insinuation, and I really didn't want people to keep reminding me of what we _didn't_ have, as if what we _did_ have wasn't enough."

Sherlock's smile softens and leans in for another kiss.

Then there's no longer anything else that might interrupt them. They are alone in their inner sanctum, Mina is asleep, no case is distracting Sherlock.

And Sherlock lets himself fall with all of the focus he has at his disposal. Everything narrows down to John; John's touches, John's taste, the sounds Sherlock is coaxing out of him, the things John makes him feel… and how it's never enough, doesn't feel like it ever could be. His untested body soaks everything up and vibrates with the intensity of submitting to itself.

Eventually, every fibre is insistently telling him that he needs more and that he needs it now.

"Bedroom?" he says before his brain can even formulate the word.

John releases a shuddering breath. "Yes. I… yes. Sure?"

Sherlock nods. "I want…" Something. Anything. John.

John nods with him. "We'll figure it out," he breathes against Sherlock's lips. He appears almost as far gone as Sherlock, but he still takes the time to study Sherlock's expression carefully. "Together. Alright?"

Sherlock returns the honest look with a frazzled one of his own, visibly grateful that John is slowing them down a bit. He is shivering from the emotions he can no longer catalogue. In any other situation, he would be able to name every single chemical coursing through him, and now he has to rely on his memory to record everything so he can review it later. He manages another nod.  
"I don't… I mean, I know what possibilities there are…" he desperately wants to convince John that he doesn't have to be treated like a wilting flower because of his lack of practical experience.

John smiles and kisses him. "We'll figure it out," he repeats. "And if at any time you want me to stop - any time at all - just say stop, and I will." He waits to see comprehension in Sherlock's glassy eyes. "Yes?"

Sherlock swallows and nods, and then he really has enough of the discussions and pulls John into another deep kiss before dragging him through the flat and into the bedroom.

John chuckles and follows him, closes the door behind them and puts the baby monitor he managed to grab on the bedside table. When he turns around, Sherlock has already thrown his jacket on a chair and is toeing off his shoes.  
"Sherlock… slow down." He reaches for Sherlock's arm and takes a hold of it gently.

"Slow? Years, John. It's been _years_ ," he (almost) whines (almost) petulantly.

John holds back a small laugh, but his lips twitch and he approaches Sherlock slowly. "Yes… and I want to enjoy this." He runs a hand along the open collar of Sherlock's infuriating purple shirt. "Will you let me?" he whispers and leans in to kiss the pale neck.

Sherlock forgets to breathe for a few seconds and gasps when the first button pops open and John's finger slip beneath the fabric. "Anything," he promises, holding John in place with a hand on the back of his head.

John keeps opening buttons and runs both hands inside and over Sherlock's torso until he can push the shirt open completely to slide it off the shoulders.

Sherlock makes an awkward little sound when the shirt catches both hands behind his back at the cuffs.

John smirks. "Come on, detective. I know you can get out of this…"

That sparks some comprehension in Sherlock's mind, and he narrows his eyes. He twists his hands for no longer than two seconds and the shirt lies on the floor.  
"Lose that hideous jumper," he growls.

John decides to ignore the insult to his wardrobe due to Sherlock's voice doing effective things to his nether regions and quickly rids himself of the offending knit-wear.

Sherlock cups the side of John's face and tilts it for a deep kiss, opening John's shirt, glad that for once he didn't wear a t-shirt beneath it.

And then their arms wrap around each other, bringing their naked chests together.

This time, it's Sherlock who starts exploring John's neck. He bends down, breathing harshly against the skin, measuring the thundering pulse under the taut skin with his tongue.  
"This is absurd," he gasps and walks John backwards to the bed.

John giggles as he's being sat down. "The most… perfectly ridiculous thing I've ever done," he says sincerely.

A wide grin practically splits Sherlock's face, and John pulls him down next to himself.

John gives Sherlock a soft kiss and carefully unmakes his belt. "Let me help you…"

Sherlock nods and tries his own luck with John's belt.

Slowly and patiently - and battling the urges that are gnawing at both of them - they undress each other.  
Once they are finally free of anything but their skin between them, John manoeuvres them further onto the bed, both lying on their sides, facing each other, touching from chest to toe, eyes wide open to take everything in.

Sherlock is trembling by now, his eyes are wet and glassy, and he is desperately and helplessly aroused. And John has never seen him look more beautiful.

Sherlock doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and all he manages is to hold John close.  
He has been wanting for years without truly knowing what it was that he wanted. It has never made logical sense to him. And now, _nothing_ makes sense anymore, nothing except John. Always John.  
John who keeps him right. Keeps him together, even when his mind threatens to drag him under.  
John who keeps him together, even when his _body_ is trying to drag him under. It should terrify him, this experience, losing all of his precious control like that… but it doesn't. He's safe.  
He doesn't even have the simple motoric control to kiss John anymore, he just gasps for breath against his lips, tasting them with his tongue when his body allows his mind to form at least that one basic thought. And it doesn't matter, because John is thinking for both of them, pulling him into a deep kiss with one hand at the back of his head while the other wanders lower between them.

"AH!" Sherlock's mouth shouts of its own volition when John takes a hold of him, wrapping his hand around both their cocks.  
He tries to return John's kiss, but eventually has to give up with a whimper and buries his face in John's neck, holding onto him with all his might.  
"Joh… n."

"Oh, god, Sherlock. Please tell me you're okay…" John gasps.

"Please," is all Sherlock manages to say, even though he couldn't put into words what he is asking for.

John can feel the dampness both in his hand and on his shoulder.

Tears are leaking from Sherlock's eyes, and he is shaking uncontrollably from head to toe.

John kisses along Sherlock's neck where he can reach. Then, from one second to the next, Sherlock's body goes rigid like a taut string, his eyes snap wide open, and he gasps and twitches before the air is released again in a low moan.  
John hardly notices as he follows him over the edge a few seconds later.

 

Disoriented as his spirits gradually return to him, Sherlock lets John hold him securely and rests his forehead on John's shoulder. He is still shivering, and his body rather feels like he has been chasing a whole band of serial killers who have been deliciously eluding him for weeks before he could - of course - finally solve the case and capture the whole lot of them.  
He is only vaguely aware how he keeps murmuring John's name as a holy litany.

John kisses Sherlock's temple and brushes soft fingers over his still wet cheek, and he loves so much that it's a miracle he ever got this far. Sherlock's miracle. Every time, there appears to be just one more… Mad bastard.  
"I love you," he whispers.

Sherlock's shivering slowly subsides, and he leans warmly against John, letting the other man pull the blanket over both of them.  
"You. It's always you."

*

John wakes up with an armful of relaxed Sherlock. They'd just fallen asleep as they lay the night before and are now a sticky mess, but John can't make himself care.  
He smiles and breathes in the scent from Sherlock's locks. He can smell traces of the shampoo and sleepy morning sweat.

Sherlock hums and buries himself deeper in John's embrace. "Morning."

John grins and checks the clock. "It's not even five."

Sherlock nips at the skin within his reach. "Good. That means we have enough time to shower and get rid of the mess before Mina wakes up."

John rubs his nose through the rioting curls. "She slept through the night?"

"Very considerate of her." He lifts his head and grins at John before he kisses him, then he rolls away and onto his back and props himself up on his elbows to peer at his stomach. He scratches at the remainders of their ejaculate.

John holds back his snicker with moderate success. "Want to take a sample for the microscope?"

Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes. " _Please_. Seminal fluid is not that interesting, and it has been documented in such quantity that it's bordering on obsessive."

John does snicker this time, and then they smile at each other contently for a bit. "All mental faculties intact?" John can't help but ask. Sherlock's eyes do look clear and focused, so he's not really worried, but he'd still like to hear it in Sherlock's own words.

Sherlock smirks at John. "Quite," he says and then averts his eyes, looking like his mind is going through the information it has catalogued the night before. "I might need some time later to properly… process everything. But yes," he looks at John again. "I am perfectly fine. Invigorated, one might say."  
With that, he swings himself out of the bed and into the bathroom. He peeks out again. "And I am confident that I will be able to reciprocate much more next time, now that I know what to expect."

John looks after him for a second and props himself up, snickers and rubs an eye.  
"Right…" he mutters. "Right then." He clears his throat and nods to himself.

He gets up and joins Sherlock in the shower. He knows damn well that he should enjoy this moment of tranquillity. It's not going to last long. Not that he really wants that, but it's still a moment to treasure.  
Amongst the insanity and nerve-wracking that Sherlock can be, this would fit in just fine on occasion.

 


	7. Such Sentiment

Two weeks later, John is typing up a blog entry when he hears someone coming upstairs. The list of people who can just enter is quite short, so he wraps up his paragraph and saves the entry to complete it later before he closes the laptop just as the baby gate opens with a soft squeak.

"Mycroft," John says and turns in his seat to look at his guest.

Mycroft inclines his head. "John."

"Sherlock isn't here," he says even though he knows quite well that Mycroft must be aware of Sherlock's whereabouts and stands. "The two of them went off to..." he waves a hand, "... go shopping. Though, in retrospect and knowing Sherlock, they probably went off to do something else entirely." He grins a bit.

Mycroft returns the smile politely. "No matter. I'm not here for my brother." He points his umbrella at Sherlock's chair. "May I?"

John gestures at the chair as an answer. "Be my guest. Tea?"

"No, thank you. I shan't stay long."

John sits across from him in his own chair, briefly contemplating the likelihood of Sherlock later throwing a (mini) fit after realising who had been sitting in his chair.  
That thought very quickly makes way for the reason why Mycroft would want to speak with him instead of Sherlock, and he's not sure he'll ever be ready to deal with having _that_ kind of talk with Mycroft Holmes of all people... and he uncomfortably stares at the carpet for a moment.  
He supposes it's already taken an unexpectedly long time for Mycroft to confront him.

"You needn't worry, John," Mycroft says, and John's eyes snap up. "I have always known that my brother's heart is in good hands with you, so I am quite certain that I can entrust his physical needs of a more carnal nature to you as well."

John stares at Mycroft, his thoughts wavering between mortified, amused, flattered and the insistent question of what exactly Mycroft knows and why.  
He decides he'd rather not know that last bit and clears his throat. "Right." He pauses. "Thank you."

"You are most deservedly welcome."

John blinks at that odd turn of phrase but accepts it as a compliment.

"However, this is not why I'm here, and, quite frankly, the fewer details I know of your private lives the better."

John emphatically but silently agrees.

Mycroft takes John's silence as a cue to continue and leave behind the subject that shall not be named. "I am here because mother has repeatedly asked Sherlock to consider a visit for Christmas and has now resorted to using me as a mediator."

The tension leaves John so abruptly that he is startled into a small laugh. "She wants Sherlock to visit on Christmas? After what happened last time?"

Mycroft shifts in his seat. "She has remarked - quite reasonably I think - that Sherlock has promised her a visit last year and has not, shall we say, delivered."

John has to laugh again. "Can't argue with that."

"In addition... she is quite anxious to meet the little one."

John licks his lips. "Is that because...?" He clears his throat again. "Does she know...?"

Mycroft smiles a patronising little smile. "It is hardly my place to inform her of your relationship, is it?"

John tries to read Mycroft's smile, but he might as well attempt to read a book in Chinese. Never mind that Mycroft is not generally concerned with what is or is not his place to do.

Mycroft's smile disappears and he straightens in his seat. "No, merely motherly sentiment, as I understand it, since she _is_ aware that you are raising the child together." He searches John's eyes and holds them with his own. "And given the status of your and Sherlock's relationship and Sherlock's own... paternal sentiment for young Mina, I believe you are in a position to change his mind about your Christmas plans."

John raises his eyebrows. "You want me to emotionally blackmail Sherlock into a Christmas visit?"

Mycroft pulls a (dignified) face. "Blackmail is such a nasty word. No, I merely implied that Sherlock might come to understand why such a visit is prudent if you help him to draw certain comparisons."

John smirks, but the smirk quickly softens into a smile. Despite the manipulative wording, Mycroft has a point. He tilts his head. "Are you going to be there?"

"I am afraid I simply have no paternal sentiment to draw from."

John snorts, crosses his arms and leans back with a smug look on his face.

Mycroft immediately reads that posture correctly and deflates with an annoyed sigh.

John smirks again. "Now, me asking you to come in return for my help _would_ be blackmail." He breathes out, decisive. "I'll talk to him about it," he offers, "and I won't even ask for anything in return." He shrugs. "That's up to you."

Mycroft sends John a look to say that he is immune to this type of _'well, it's your decision'_ parental manipulation, and John sends a look in return that says that he doesn't believe it for a second.

Their wordless communication is interrupted by the sound of the front door downstairs. John's smile and the look in his eyes grow warmer.

"Such sentiment…" Mycroft comments.

"Don't give me that," John says and stands. "You know as well as I do that you're happy for him." Mycroft knows better than get into that argument when Sherlock might overhear, and John greets his family at the living room door.

"Dada!" Mina squeals - still only one of the two words she says, despite Sherlock's best efforts to coax more out of her.

John takes her from Sherlock and notices the shopping bag in Sherlock's other hand with surprise. "You did go shopping."

"Yes," Sherlock says, sounding grumpy, and where he usually would have greeted John with a kiss, he now only eyes the living room with distaste. "It was unspeakably dull, so we spiced it up with a little field study in human behaviour." He smiles one of his more unsettling smiles and carries the shopping into the kitchen.

John narrows his eyes and follows him. "You'd better not tell me now that you're banned from every shop in a five mile radius…"

"Don't be absurd, John. Only some of the more moronic customers might have got a bit huffy." He puts down his bag. "And hello, brother mine. Are you here to manipulate John now?"

"Not in the least," Mycroft says and stands. "I am bound by word to ensure Mina's wellbeing, and that includes occasionally dropping by."

Sherlock straightens to approximate Mycroft's height but doesn't step closer. "You knew Mina wasn't here when you came."

"John has kept me up to date," he lies and turns to smile at John. "Thank you for the hospitality," he tells him and studies Mina studying him. "Yes, she is doing quite well." He walks over to the door in an attempt to create a dramatic pause before turning once more, this time towards Sherlock.  
"As are you, I hear."

Sherlock stares coldly at him.

"Now, Sherlock. None of that." He sighs a bit as Sherlock remains relentless. "My heartfelt congratulations."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Our parents will be pleased."

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "You told them."

"Hardly. _You_ will." With that, he nods at John. "Goodbye, John. Mina. Sherlock." He leaves, and Sherlock closes the door behind him with a little more force than strictly necessary.

John shakes his head and holds up one hand. "I didn't tell him anything."

Sherlock breathes out. "You didn't have to." He looks at him and can't help but smile a little. "It's written all over your face." He ruefully nods at the door where Mycroft disappeared. "And he likely already knew."

John returns the smile and then kisses Mina's head where she sleepily rests it against his shoulder.  
"You can have your lunch and then a nap," he lets her know. "Papa wore you out with his field trip."

Mina grins at him.

John chuckles. "Of course he did." When he lifts his head to where Sherlock's eyes are firmly on both of them, he lifts a hand and waves Sherlock over.  
"Come here."

Sherlock walks closer and lets John pull him into a kiss.

After the kiss ends, John hands him Mina. "You can keep her busy while I prepare her lunch."

John listens to Sherlock and Mina playing with some figurines and vehicles appropriate for playing for someone her age.

"The police car is a good sign," Sherlock tells her. "When we need the fire engine, all the evidence is already destroyed."

John snickers.

Mina protests loudly at Sherlock pushing the fire engine further away, and Sherlock sighs.

"Alright, fine. I suppose we _could_ put out the fire first. The evidence might be in a fire proof safe. Good thinking."

By the time the fire is extinguished and the evidence secured, lunch for Mina is ready, and they sit at the table in the living room together. Since neither John nor Sherlock are hungry just then, Mina munches on her pieces of carrot, potato and sausage by herself, and her daddy and papa merely watch her.

Eventually, Sherlock speaks. "Mycroft was here because of Christmas, wasn't he?"

"My!" Mina says.

Sherlock sends her a look hovering between horribly betrayed and incredulous. "Did she just say what I think she just said?"

John bites back a laugh and watches Mina who shoves in another piece of sausage, not inclined to repeat her performance.  
Once she has swallowed, John leans forward. "Who was here just now, hm? Mycroft?"

Mina looks at him with a piece of carrot in her hand this time. "Myco," she says, sounding for all the world as if she's always been able to say it. The carrot meets its doom.

Sherlock pulls a face, and John holds up a finger. "Don't you start."

"But it's _Mycroft_!" Sherlock complains.

John smiles at him. "Well, Mycroft's around quite a lot, and don't forget that papa came first."

Sherlock appears vaguely mollified. "She could have gone with one of her toys…" he grumbles. Then his eyes twitch once, and he determinedly sheds the disgruntled expression within a second and smiles at her.  
"But Mycroft is a very difficult word to choose for your third one. Very good." He adds the last part, audibly making certain that honesty is all she can hear.  
When he raises his head again, John looks choked, and Sherlock almost startles.

"I love you," John simply says.

Sherlock, not sure what to do with the loving approval, hesitates and briefly bites his lips. "Well, it _is_ a difficult word."

"And you're a good father." John knows that jumping over one's shadow - even for the benefit of a child - is sometimes very difficult.

Sherlock looks touched for a grand total of five seconds before his eyes narrow again. "And he still came here to manipulate you into talking me into spending Christmas at our parents'," he accuses John.

John sighs. "And he made two excellent points."

Sherlock huffs and leans back in his seat.

"You did promise your mother a Christmas visit last year, and, let's face it, that's not what she got."

Sherlock has the decency to look somewhat guilty.

"But more importantly," John adds, "they're your parents, and I _know_ you can understand why they would like to see you."

Sherlock averts his eyes. The fact that he can indeed understand doesn't make him want to go any more.

"And it would be different than any other Christmas, wouldn't it?" John continues. "They'd have a granddaughter to spoil and dote on, and you know Mina would love the full-on Christmas with new people."

Sherlock's sour expression softens. "She does seem to genuinely like people," he admits, looking at her (while she almost falls asleep mid-bite). He smiles benignly.

"Think about it."

Sherlock sighs. "Fine." Then a thought occurs to him. "Did you at least blackmail him into going as well?"

John smirks. "I told him it was his decision."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "You don't think he'll fall for that one, do you?"

John shrugs. "Not directly and not because of guilt, but he will think about the whole event because he doesn't yet know whether or not you will go, and eventually, he'll decide to go just to see what happens with you there and because he doesn't want you to hold it over his head as leverage."

Sherlock blinks and then smirks. "Nice."

"I did let him think I was playing the guilt card, though…"

Sherlock snickers. "I adore you."

John grins back, but then Mina's eyes start falling closed, and he makes her drink a bit from her sippy cup. "And I'm sure Mina will be happy to see uncle Myco."

Sherlock laughs out loud. "Our parents will start calling him that too, won't they?"

John picks Mina up from her chair and kisses Sherlock's cheek. "You're an overgrown child."

Sherlock just waves at Mina as she's being carried out of the room for her nap, and Mina waves back.

 

When John returns, Sherlock is still in his seat and looks at him expectantly.

John has grown familiar with that look in the last two weeks, holds back a grin and clears the table of the remainder of Mina's lunch.

Sherlock follows him to the sink and wraps his arms around him from behind.

John just puts the plate down and leans back into the embrace.

"Do I get a nap too?" Sherlock murmurs directly into John's ear.

"Hm," John pretends to think. "Have you been good this morning?"

"Spectacularly, given that I haven't had a case in two days."

John tilts his head to look at him. "There are cases in your inbox, you know."

"I haven't had any _interesting_ cases in two days."

"Yeah, alright, good enough." John turns around in the embrace to kiss Sherlock slowly, deeply.  
He hums after a while and breaks the kiss.  
"Not bored of me yet?"

Sherlock recaptures John's lips. "Don't be absurd," he admonishes him breathily, deepens the kiss and unmistakeably directs him towards the bedroom, hardly ever breaking their kiss. Once there, he closes the door behind them.  
"You must know, John. You must…" he says.

John presses a calming, short kiss on Sherlock's lips. "I do know. I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing to say."

Sherlock still looks somewhat pained. "I suppose the thought is not entirely unfounded. Perhaps sometimes I express that the things you say are boring, or some of the things you insist on doing…"

John snickers.

Sherlock kisses him. "But never you," he says, looking into John's eyes seriously. "You… complement me."

John returns the kiss sweetly.

"And the sexual aspect is an excellent temporary distraction for when I don't have a case," Sherlock adds, making John laugh.

"Yeah, alright. Point." John grabs Sherlock by the belt hoops and drags him onto the bed. "Come on, then. Let me distract you."

Sherlock rolls them over until he is on top of John. "I think I would like to return the favour and fellate you," he says, matter-of-factly.

John's mental faculties come to an abrupt halt for a moment. Not that he is in any way opposed. After all, Sherlock is an incredibly quick study and had been so very responsive when John had done it to him…  
He clears his throat once his mind comes back online. "By all means, carry on."

Sherlock has already shifted lower and is grinning wolfishly at John from his stomach. "Oh, I will."

*

Sherlock taps his fingers on the arm of his chair and breathes an annoyed sigh, sending John a _look_.

John's lips twitch, but he manages to hold anything else back. Instead, he faces their client again and nods sagely.

"Well!" Sherlock suddenly exclaims, smacks both hands on his thighs and stands. "Let me demonstrate something to you," he tells the client. "Mina."

Mina looks up from where she is sitting in front of the (unlit) fire place, playing with her fire truck.

Sherlock holds out his hand. "Mina, come to papa."

And Mina, now eleven months old, grins at him, takes his hand and pulls herself to her feet.

Sherlock walks her a few steps away from the chairs and towards the clients. He turns around, lets go of her hand and holds her steady. "And now go to daddy."

John doesn't really know what is going on, but he holds out his hands encouragingly, and Mina walks the steps back to him unaided, both of them laughing when he lifts her to sit on his lap.

Sherlock grins widely, and the client frowns at him, confused.

"What does that have to do with my Alfred?"

"Oh, nothing. Except that our daughter has learned to walk yesterday, and I wanted to show off. Similarly, your uncle is - despite his claims - still able to walk, and not only that, but he can also ride your missing horse."

"Alfred."

"Yes, that. Quite obvious from the state of his shoes and the wheelchair in the image you showed me that he is not incapacitated. Also, the injury to his shoulder did most definitely not result from falling out of his chair but from a horse, likely while catching his foot in the stirrup…" he tilts his head, considering that for a second, "maybe just by falling at an unfortunate angle, but the stirrup is more likely. I assume he has recently found a love interest he wanted to impress."

"But he hates Alfred."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Unless your family has many more horses…"

"Of course not! I can only just manage with Alfred."

"… He simply had no other options. And I'm assuming the horse had enough common sense to throw off someone who doesn't like him."

The client stares for a moment. "That bastard!"

"Quite. Next!"

 

Not that the next client is in any way more challenging, and Sherlock has to cling to his happy place in his mind palace (at _least_ serial suicides, possibly in different rooms locked from the inside, all of them with alphabetically sorted notes corresponding to the date of death) to be able to keep the condescending setting of his voice no higher than on _'medium'_ when he says, "No, your house is not haunted. That's the garbage disposal that comes by every Tuesday and Friday."

John shakes in silent laughter until he can hear the front door downstairs close behind the client, and Sherlock stalks up and down the living room, utterly offended by people's stupidity.

"You could pick something from your inbox…" John suggests.

Sherlock huffs.

"At least that way you can screen the case before you meet the people behind it." He snickers a bit into his hand, feeling bad for the poor scared client, but unable to restrain himself.

Sherlock comes to a stand by the window.

"And, you know…" John continues, "it's okay if you take a case out of town…"

Sherlock looks at him over his shoulder.

"There was one that sounded interesting…"

Sherlock waves him off. "Solved it this morning via email."

John blinks. "Oh."

Sherlock turns fully. "And if I had left town on Wednesday, I would have missed yesterday."

John has to smile. Oh, he's getting soft… and settling into this eccentric domesticity between nappies and case solving surprisingly well. As is Sherlock, he knows (and is reminded of daily), and they share a quick look, conveying both their surprise and content acceptance of what is their life now.  
"Well," he quickly says, "the case last week was interesting, though."

"Moderately," Sherlock admits, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a bit when he remembers. "Perhaps slightly more than that."

John studies Sherlock fondly. Sherlock has mellowed noticeably. Not so much during a case that demands his full attention (his single-mindedness has hardly changed at all at those times, really), but during the dry spells between them. Where before such inactivity has managed to drive Sherlock to madness by clawing at him from the inside, he now focuses on his ongoing experiment of child-rearing and parental attachment, or he allows John to _distract_ him.

John remembers a discussion he once had with Sherlock about emotions and the chemicals causing them.

 _'So, you don't think emotions are real?'_ John had said, receiving an odd look in return.

 _'What makes you think chemicals aren't real?'_ Sherlock had replied with a counter question. _'Emotions are **measurably** real.'_

And that had been that. John hasn't questioned Sherlock's understanding and acceptance of emotions since. Perhaps Sherlock's perception isn't what other people would call conventional, but that doesn't make his unusual methods to understand the incomprehensible any less valid.

John stands and approaches Sherlock who remains still, waiting. They kiss for a long moment, and then John ends it with another small one.

"Since Mina's busy," John starts nodding to where she is driving toy cars in circles around herself, "why don't you check your mailbox to see if there's anything to catch your interest, and I'm fixing us some lunch, or she'll get cranky."

Sherlock sighs, long-sufferingly. "Clients are particularly annoying these days."

"Well, they have to step up their game eventually."

Sherlock smirks a bit and kisses John again. "Fine, but if I don't find anything, you're going to have to make it up to me."

John widens his eyes and shrugs. "Don't see the problem."

They grin at each other, and both do as John has suggested. And just as Sherlock finds a case that at least looks as if it might not cause his brain to develop a never before seen case of spontaneous meningitis in protest, John's phone rings.

John frowns at the unknown number and picks up. "Hello?"

Sherlock opens his mail program to answer the message that has piqued his interest.

"Mrs Holmes," John says startled.

Sherlock very nearly sends an empty email when he accidentally hits enter.

"Yes, Lydia. Sorry. Of course."

Sherlock sighs and turns in his seat towards Mina who still sits on the carpet. "I am going to kill your uncle Mycroft," he informs her sagely.

"Myco," she says.

"Mhm…" Sherlock agrees. "Mycroft."

Mina pushes around the fire truck. "Duck."

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and nods his head sideways. "Yes. Perhaps with a fire truck."

John watches them in amusement, still listening with one ear to what mummy Holmes has to say. Occasionally he replies, friendly.  
He sends Sherlock a pointed look.

Sherlock sighs. "You still think we should go," he murmurs, loud enough for John to hear, quiet enough to not carry over the phone.

John looks at him for a moment longer, then at Mina, then back to Sherlock. He's made up his mind long ago, and he's almost certain that Sherlock has done the same…  
He nods.

Sherlock looks away (and inadvertently looks at Mina) and sighs again. Eventually, he nods. "Alright." At John's smile, he narrows his eyes. "But don't let this become a habit."

John mouths, _'Thank you.'_ Aloud, he says, "No, no. We've discussed it. We'll be there." He grins at Sherlock. "We're looking forward to it."

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I will definitely bring the little angel," John says, sounding both indulgent and genuinely fond. "And the big imp."

Sherlock's lips twitch when he can hear his mother's laugh all the way to where he's sitting.

John eventually rings off and walks over to Sherlock. "I meant it. Thank you."

Sherlock props his elbow on the table and his temple against his loose fist. "Don't thank me just yet. You have yet to see a Christmas dinner…"

John grins widely and inclines his head. "I won't be bored."

Sherlock returns the grin. "I won't let you," Sherlock promises.


	8. Clearing the Air

John has had enough, and it shows on his face, he knows. Sherlock can't see it because he's stalking up and down the living room like a trapped animal, ranting and upsetting Mina more and more.

This doesn't happen very often, and Sherlock apparently tends to be aware enough even at his worst to only work himself into a funk like this when John is there to deal with the fallout.  
John usually makes use of that fact and leaves with Mina to allow Sherlock to find his own way back into his own mind, but this time, John finds Sherlock's behaviour to be particularly unreasonable, and his nerves are running thin.

When Mina wails pitifully, and Sherlock still doesn't stop his antics, John picks her up, steps right into Sherlock's path and lowers his voice to a dangerous hum.

"Get into the bedroom," John orders. Hard. Firm.

Sherlock comes to an abrupt halt, but the mania still lingers in his eyes. Despite that, he apparently still can't ignore John's authority.

"Get into the bedroom," John repeats in his best Captain's voice, "get naked and wait for me." He holds Sherlock's eyes with his, not allowing Sherlock to look anywhere else.

The anger, heat and rawness of John's voice manage to get some awareness to return to Sherlock, and Sherlock suddenly remembers and then notices the crying Mina. Briefly, some guilt and pain flash over his features before he returns the hard look.

"Now."

Sherlock's jaw sets, but he does as he's told.

For a moment, John is surprised that this somewhat unconventional method worked, then he releases the breath he's been holding. He gently rocks Mina.  
"Papa is just being a bit silly," he tells her, his eyes on Sherlock's bedroom door. "And I'm going to make sure he doesn't forget that he shouldn't be quite so silly again."

Mina hiccups and looks up.

John returns the look and smiles. "Don't ask me what that means until you're older," he says and walks them both down the stairs to where he knows Mrs Hudson is probably already worried about the neighbours. "Scratch that. Don't ever ask me about it," he adds after a moment's consideration.

 

Once in his bedroom, Sherlock first stalks up and down again, from wall to wall, angry, frustrated, cornered. Then, in the same frantic manner he has walked, he undresses in quick and uncharacteristically ungraceful movements.

When he is done, he stands in the middle of the room, as emotionally raw as he is naked. He doesn't remember what exactly he has been ranting about earlier - something inconsequential concerning his lack of a case - and now that it's gone, thoughts about John and Mina trickle back into his consciousness. 

He is aware enough to realise why he is so susceptible to losing his temper at the moment, but he has so far always shrugged off his own realisation, but never before has he made the child cry.  
He sighs, deflates. Time to face the facts. Christmas is drawing closer, and it's driving him crazy. It's just a silly holiday, yearly causing family disputes, mayhem and even man slaughter, and he's never cared before. His current emotional state, however, suggests that he won't be able to let it roll off his metaphorical back as he usually would.

Sherlock eyes the bed. Well. Today, he has crossed a line and it's time to man up, so to speak.  
He lies down and waits.

 

While John hands over Mina to Mrs Hudson with the promise that there would be no more angry shouting, walks up the stairs and returns to their bedroom, he - much like Sherlock - has managed to leave some of his anger and single-mindedness behind. He studies the apprehensive Sherlock on the bed from inside the door for a long moment as they look at each other.

John's anger deflates completely, and he rubs his face, shaking his head. "What the hell am I doing?"

Sherlock clears his throat and shifts on the bed, and despite being completely naked in front of a dressed John, he feels less exposed.  
"I do believe you were planning to introduce me to penetrative sex."

It's not really a surprise to John that Sherlock could read him even when he was completely manic. He himself feels like an idiot, though.  
"Yeah…" No use in denying, he supposes. "It was my full intention to… uh… do that."

Sherlock blinks, then smirks. "I see. And that is problematic." He doesn't pose it as a question, since it's apparently problematic to John.

John huffs. "You _really_ pissed me off earlier, and I guess angry sex seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sherlock props himself up on his elbows.

"But, yeah, that's not gonna happen," John continues.

Sherlock frowns. "Why not?" Now that the thought has settled, it quite suits him.

John stares at him incredulously. "Because… you've never had any sex with anyone except me, and I've never done… _that_ with a man. And I'm not doing it while angry. It's not right; it's not supposed to be a punishment."

Sherlock tilts his head. "Well…"

John has to grin. "At least not _the first time_ , Sherlock."

Sherlock's lips twitch benignly, he licks his lips and nods his chin to the bed. "So come here and _don't_ be angry."

John tries very hard to tone down his grin and unbuttons his shirt. Then a thought occurs to him, and he points at Sherlock seriously.  
"But we _will_ talk about what the hell happened earlier, because you're going to have to try harder to make sure it doesn't happen again when Mina is around to see it."  
He nods, once and firmly and continues undressing.

Sherlock's eyes wander back and forth for a bit as he follows the thoughts behind them, and it takes him a bit before he can put them into words.  
"I have you as a safety-net," is what he eventually says, and John looks up. "It doesn't happen when I know I have to focus on her completely."

John takes off his socks and thinks about that. "I know," he allows. "She's our daughter, I'm sure she can easily deal with a bit of mania." It makes Sherlock grin a bit. "But that was too much," John completes his thoughts and waves a sock at Sherlock.

Sherlock's grin wanes, and he nods.

"And I know you can do better." John takes off his pants.

Sherlock nods again. On some days, he's not entirely sure how John could come to that conclusion that he of all people could do well, much less better, and on other days, he proves it to himself that he can. Again and again.

Finally, John stands naked next to the bed. "Now. Where were we?"

Sherlock snaps back to the present, and his eyes sharpen. He smiles very slowly and lowers himself again, which makes John climb into bed next to him.

John props himself up on one elbow and his impish expression softens. "You know… we can postpone this."

"Oh, for god's sake, John!" Sherlock complains. "Surely some part of you must still think I deserve a good pounding!"

John's freezes for a second before he bursts into giggles, and Sherlock follows not long after. John covers half his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking.  
"You usually do."

Sherlock laughs some more. "So you went from hearing, _'punch me in the face'_ to _'pound me into the mattress'_?"

John bursts into a new set of giggles and eventually cups Sherlock's face with one hand and kisses him. After a long moment, he murmurs against Sherlock's lips: "I love you, even when you're being a complete prick."

Sherlock lays his own hand on top of John's. "As do I."

John leans back a bit. "Love me when I'm being a complete prick?"

"No," Sherlock says, seriously. "Love you when _I'm_ being a complete prick. Please know this. My behaviour when I'm in a fit is in no way a reflection of how I feel for you or Mina."

John has to swallow against the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I know." He kisses him briefly. "I know I can be a prick too on occasion."

Sherlock's lip twitches, but he diplomatically doesn't say anything.

John huffs a bit, amused. "Sometimes I feel like people only think I'm nice because they compare me to you." He smirks.

Sherlock's expression suggests that he might even have conducted his own research on the matter, including staggering evidence that people indeed _do_ find John more companionable when Sherlock is there to provide a contrast.

John grins ruefully. "Oh, shut up."

Sherlock chuckles and pulls him into a kiss. "Don't worry," he says between kisses. "Your brand of niceness suits me just fine." He deepens the kiss and pulls John half on top of himself.

For a long time, they just kiss, let their hands wander and allow the reason that has led to this moment dissolve.

When John's hands wander lower more purposefully and edge between Sherlock's legs, Sherlock responds by letting his thighs fall open.

"Bedside drawer. My side," Sherlock mumbles into the kiss, and John leaves off him for long enough to take out lube and condoms.

"We never talked about this," John notes when he puts both on the pillow beside them and taps the condoms. It seems like an oversight on his doctorly part, he must admit.

"I did have Molly test me, due to my… colourful past and in case things between us would ever get heated in a situation where we wouldn't have access to prophylactics."

John snickers. "We do have the tendency to get carried away on occasion."

"And I know you always got tested whenever a relationship with one of your girlfriends lasted for long enough to think about foregoing them."

John's amused expression turns somewhat rueful. "Didn't happen a lot."

Sherlock smirks.

"I did get tested for you. Of course I did," John continues. The day after their first kiss, in fact. Not that he told Sherlock that. And, knowing him, Sherlock likely already knew and would just gleefully inform John of that. In detail.

Sherlock pulls him back into a deep kiss and after a long moment gasps, "So get rid of the damn things!"

John blindly throws them out of the bed, and they land somewhere in the corner. He also doesn't think that more waiting is necessary, so he takes the bottle of lube and pours some of the content onto his fingers before moving his hand into position again.  
"I… uh… will need you to talk to me," he says, nonetheless. "How it feels, or if I'm doing it wrong, or if it's too much or not enough…" He's done his research, he even tried a finger or two on himself in the shower, just to make sure… but this is still new to him.

Sherlock nods and opens his legs wider to ease access.

John soldiers on, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's face so he would notice discomfort immediately. He gently tries to ease in his middle finger and realises that Sherlock must have done his own research, as he meets next to no resistance. Sherlock's eyes fall closed, he releases a deep breath with a low moan and very nearly melts into the mattress.

John has to hold himself back to not just jump at this delicious sight. He undulates against Sherlock's side to ease some of the urgency, kisses his cheek and slack lips and gently moves his finger in and out. He has no issues locating the prostate, but he has yet to find out how Sherlock will react to stimulating it, and he doesn't want to overwhelm or hurt him. He brushes over the spot with the gland hidden behind it, allows only the barest flutter from the tip of his finger…

Sherlock gasps, and his eyes open wide. "Different…" he manages to say, mindful of John's earlier request. "Different."

John has been right then in assuming that Sherlock has conducted his own experimentation. "It's very different when you're aroused," he tells him in his doctorly voice, though it is rather raspy. He applies a bit more pressure as his finger moves in again.

Sherlock shudders and arches his back. "I… My experimentation did not suggest that I would be so…"

"Receptive?" John can move in a second finger with no resistance to speak of.

Sherlock whimpers and nods. His eyes are open but unfocused. "Different. Not certain if it is you or your hand or…" His legs fall open even wider, his face and neck and chest are flushed, his hair is slick and some locks stick to his forehead. He is a debauched vision.  
Still, he tries to talk to John. Speaking is not usually a problem for him, but now - when his mind uses almost all of its capacity to even record what is happening to his body - putting into words what is happening to him is an adventure in and of itself.  
"Arousal, yes," he says, remembering how John has explained just now that prostate stimulation would feel different while aroused. "The arousal is you. All you. I… don't… don't feel it, not usually."

John cannot deny the rush of empowerment, confirmation, love, appreciation… primal drive. He leans closer and breathes over Sherlock's lips, keeping up the movement of his fingers.  
"You only feel arousal with me."

"Hadn't in years. Not necessary. Distracting." The third finger makes him breathe even more harshly. "John…"

"Christ. Do you have any idea what it does to me when you say things like that?"

Sherlock smiles widely with wild eyes and rasps a laugh. "Enough for you to stop holding back?"

John thinks about that for a second, but shakes himself out of it. "Don't tempt me," he says but decides that he doesn't have to wait longer to add a fourth finger, making sure Sherlock is too distracted to reply to his comment in the process.

Naturally, Sherlock won't be shut up for long. "Are you trying to fit in all fingers?" he asks. "Shouldn't that be an experiment for another day?"

At that point, John's brain simply crashes. "I don't even know what I think about that."

Sherlock smirks as much as he is able - which is still remarkably smirky - and files that thought for later. "So stop thinking." He softens the smirk with some effort. "I'm ready. I know you can feel that I am."

John hesitates. Not because he thinks Sherlock needs more time, but because he knows that this would be easier for the receiving party if he would face away, yet he selfishly wants to see Sherlock's face.

"No. Like this," Sherlock repeats John's thoughts. "This time. I need to see you."

John nods jerkily and looks around for something to put under Sherlock's hips to at least have a better angle.

Again, Sherlock is ahead of him and reaches over his head to get a pillow. "This?"

"Yes." John manoeuvres Sherlock around to put the pillow under his hips. He slips his fingers out as in the process, making Sherlock gasp an abrupt moan. "Sorry..." That moan didn't sound like a particularly pleased one.  
As he moves to hover over Sherlock, he thinks about returning the fingers, but Sherlock very clearly though wordlessly makes him understand that this is not an option.  
"Okay, okay. Just..." He takes the bottle of lube and makes sure he takes enough of it, even if his (of course it's _his_ and not Sherlock's) pillow will be a mess and in need of a thorough washing later.

And then John is ready. He's here. They're both _here_ , and though he always thought that this wouldn't be such a big step or not something that is terribly different from the other sexual things that they have done together, somehow, illogically, it is.

Sherlock looks up at John as if he agrees and is surprised by it. He moves his hips to align them better when John steadies his cock with one hand.

John looks down between Sherlock's legs to position himself and rubs the blunt head of his cock against the slick hole, only pushing perhaps half of the head inside so that he can feel it and keep his eyes on Sherlock's face. There will be other times when he will want to see himself sink into this beautiful body, but today, he wants to see Sherlock react.

Sherlock has definitely done his research. He manages to keep breathing, bears down and relaxes as much as he is able, even though his eyes roll back and his body is shaking.

John steadily pushes down and doesn't stop until he is seated completely inside, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep his eyes open. He slowly moves in and out once, twice, three times and can feel Sherlock's chest heave underneath him, hear the sounds he makes.  
He doesn't know for how long they move together almost leisurely, discovering these new sensations they are creating in each other, but it's perfect, and he wants more, already maps out all the times in the future where they could be joined together like this. He wants to know what it feels like to welcome Sherlock into his body, he wants to see what it looks like when his cock snaps into his lover with abandon, he wants to know how far they can take each other, how deeply loved, how much more to experiment with and discover... " _Sherlock..._ "

Sherlock's name on John's lips marks the pivotal point, and something snaps in Sherlock's own self-control, and he suddenly grabs John's head with both hands, pulls him into a desperate kiss and within seconds finds the right movements that allow him to meet John's thrusts, urging him to speed up, to go faster, harder, deeper.

John no longer knows what to do with himself and just gives in and allows Sherlock to take over, take him in, pull them together and dictate the rhythm.  
" _Christ_!" John gasps out. "You... ngh..." He can no longer talk. Neither can he really kiss anymore, so he just bites and licks and occasionally nips whenever his lips obey him.

When Sherlock's back arches like a bow without a warning, and a wrecking shout escapes his throat as he climaxes, it surprises them both so much that it takes John a moment to regain his rhythm without Sherlock's help.

 

Sherlock whimpers in his aftershock and clings to John with both arms, making it difficult for John to keep moving, but he can't stop, doesn't want to stop, doesn't ever want to stop. He listens to John gasp and moan directly into his ear, muttering barely coherent obscenities and endearments.

When he can feel the man he loves twitch inside him and fill him and can hear him shout words of love, his eyes blur, and it is utterly and incomprehensively wonderful. Such simple chemistry and such overwhelming effects. So very addictive.

"Jesus," John gasps and finally slumps on Sherlock's unmoving form. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Sherlock chuckles breathlessly, holding John close with one arm around his torso and the other hand gently running through his hair. He kisses his wet temple.  
"I'm hardly a messiah, John."

John lifts himself on shaky arms and slips out of Sherlock, making him grunt and pull a face. John studies Sherlock's incredibly bright eyes in the sombre room.  
"More like Lucifer."

Sherlock smirks.

"The brightest of the lot, and always at danger of falling."

A silly story, but Sherlock can appreciate the sentiment nonetheless and pulls John into a soft kiss.

John props himself up again and looks at Sherlock for a long moment. "I suppose we can safely say that you respond very well to prostate stimulation."

"A fair assumption."

"And you got pounded into the mattress after all..."

Sherlock laughs, then controls his features. "A bit."

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

Sherlock moves against him luxuriously. "Now that you know how I respond to this kind of activity, you won't have to hold back the next time the situation calls for it."

"Oh, you little shit had damn well better be prepared for it, too! I'll s- hmm..."

Sherlock ends the humorous tirade with another kiss. They have more time for banter and perhaps even some experimentation later. John has recently shown some intriguing reactions to carefully vague suggestions. Perhaps Sherlock should see if he can still find his riding crop.

*

Sherlock both is and isn't surprised that John was right about Christmas. 

He isn't surprised because, yes, obviously, it would be different. His parents (especially his mother) would be way too distracted by Mina. They would be happy for Sherlock and his new role, too happy to ramble their usual inanities at him. Mina would also distract _him_ with her wide eyes taking in new people and lights and ornaments and wrapping paper and gifts. Mycroft (who is expected the next day) would be hilariously out of his comfort zone - even more than he usually was at such gatherings.

He _is_ surprised because his memories tell a very different story. A story of a childhood of seeing things that only a brother could understand who would always see just that little bit _more_ to taunt him. Of learning that it is always possible to disappoint, even when all one does is to speak of what one can see, what is there for all to see if only they would _look_ closely.  
Of parents who loved dearly but didn't know how to embrace someone as mercurial as Sherlock. Mycroft at least learned how to make use of the society surrounding them and therefore being less cause for worry.

Now, Sherlock finds that he can enjoy this entirely new dynamic. His mother is doting on her granddaughter as expected, and it does something unexpected to Sherlock's insides when his mother looks up at him from where she sits on the floor, helping Mina open a present.

"She is just like you at that age."

John - who sits next to Sherlock on the couch - doesn't notice Sherlock freeze, he just grins at the her. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," she confirms. "Inspecting every shred of wrapping paper and every corner of the box…" She laughs a bit and looks at Sherlock again. "And when you got older, you would turn it this way and that, and tell us what was in it."

Sherlock's stomach twinges. Surely, his mother would have preferred an innocent child for longer. A child that would enjoy simply being given a gift… Yet his mother proves that thought wrong as well.

Lydia turns to her husband for confirmation. "Isn't that right, dear?"

"Oh, yes," he says dutifully, nodding at John.

Lydia just looks delighted and bends down to Mina. "Your papa's razor sharp mind would cut right through the paper and box," she told her in an adventurous tone.

Mina grins at her and keeps ripping pieces of paper off her own present.

Finally, her grandmother helps her open the box and take out the white board with the magnetic numbers to stick on it.  
She turns to look at John. "She's a bit young for this, I know," she says apologetically. "I made sure that the numbers are too big to swallow, though." She waves a hand to alleviate potential fears. "But just to be safe, we should keep an eye on her when she plays with it."  
Then she proceeds to show Mina how to place the numbers and mathematical symbols on the board.

Sherlock clears his throat, dislodging the thought that somehow has managed to get stuck in it. The thought of how he doesn't remember his mother introducing him to toys in this manner, despite now knowing that she apparently has. John was right about this too. Sherlock _does_ understand his parents' wish to see him. And his daughter. It's an unfamiliar notion, one that doesn't necessarily make him feel better about visiting, but it does perhaps make him more inclined to occasionally compromise.  
"Are you trying to have her follow in your footsteps?" he manages to say in a mostly composed voice.

His mother straightens to look at him seriously, and two sets of identical eyes meet. "It can't hurt. Girls should be taught early that they needn't be afraid of numbers."

Sherlock can't find a fault in that statement. "Agreed."  
He can see from the corner of his eyes that John's fingers twitch, and he can relate to the sentiment. He, too, would very much like to take his partner's hand now. But they have not yet breached that topic, though they had previously decided to do so before Mycroft would get there the next day.  
But, as is often the case with such parental issues, it is inexplicably hard to just _say_ certain things.

Lydia shows Mina that she can also pin pieces of the wrapping paper under the magnets, and Mina gleefully pulls them out from under them again, giggling.  
"This is not very much like you," she tells Sherlock. "You would want to see the next present right after the first one was open."

John grins at Sherlock that. "I guess you didn't like the rule much that there would only be one present on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas Day, then."

Lydia leans forward. "He didn't," she says in a conspiratorial stage whisper. "Except when he was four and got a microscope. He wouldn't look at the other presents at all."

Sherlock looks at his father who chuckles contentedly.

"Of course, at that age, you already knew what was in them, and you went right for the prize."

John giggles next to Sherlock, and Sherlock has to admit that he can... relate to the contentment as well.

 

An hour later, when John returns from having put Mina to bed, Sherlock's parents are cleaning in the kitchen, and Sherlock himself stands at the window in the living room. After having been shooed out of the kitchen where John's offer to help was firmly rejected, he joins Sherlock.

They stand in companionable silence for a while, watching the drizzling rain in the dark.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" John murmurs after a bit.

Sherlock looks at John's reflection in the window. "It wasn't. Different perspective, I suppose."

John nods, slowly. "That's good. I'm glad you're not just suffering through it."

Sherlock sighs. "I'm not," he admits, and he's buzzed enough by mulled wine to not sound petulant.

"I would have been prepared to leave early tomorrow morning with some excuse or other." John breathes out slowly. "But your parents are so happy to see the two of you, I'm really glad I won't have to."

"They're happy to see you too."

John clears his throat. "Not quite the same."

"We are going to have to tell them that you are family for _all_ intents and purposes. Tonight, preferably." Clanking sounds come from the kitchen, so they have some more reprieve at least.

John nods again. "Almost all intents and purposes. We're not married, after all." John smirks at Sherlock's reflection.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Technically, you're still married."

"Legally and in practice, I'm a widower," John replies without missing a beat. "There was a body and a funeral and everything."  
It seems almost funny now, and John will have to be careful to not laugh in an inopportune moment around other people. Giggling at a crime scene is one thing, laughing about having lost his wife in front of anyone not in the know might cross another boundary.

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock shares his inappropriate sense of humour and tries to hide his smirk. Then he sobers. "The loss was real enough."

John's smirk disappears too, but he's still at ease. He hums in agreement. "It was." He thinks about her for a long moment, and Sherlock lets him.  
"I'm still terribly angry at her sometimes," John admits into the silence.

Sherlock thinks of the scar on his chest and nods, though he has to grin a bit. "Can't blame you."

John huffs a small laugh. "Come off it. You liked her."

"I did. Uncharacteristically so." He turns to grin at John and not merely at his reflection. "Quick mind, unexpectedly dangerous, hard to read... What's not to like?"

John shakes his head, grinning. "I could think of a thing or two." After a moment, he sighs, the smile waning.  
"It's not even that she lied to me. I mean, it _is_ , or it's at least part of it." It takes him a bit to find the words. "I almost lost you again, just because she didn't want me to know who she really was." He shakes his head. "It's not who she was, or that she lied, or even what she thought she had to do. It's that she was ready to take one of the most important people in my life from me, simply because she didn't trust me with the truth."

"She didn't want to kill me."

"No," John agreed. "It's clear that you would have been dead if she had. But she still took the risk that you might die." His breath hitches once. "Your bloody heart stopped, for Christ's sake!" he hisses urgently, though not loudly enough to carry into the kitchen. "She might have done everything she could, but you still got a hole in the chest for it!"

Sherlock is well aware. Yet... "You still loved her."

"I did." John nods. "But back then and with that stunt, she did the same thing to me you did."

Sherlock draws in a sharp breath.

"You didn't think I could deal with the truth in that game of yours, so you killed yourself in front of me. And it hurts all the more that she would take the risk of you dying for real, even though she knew what it would do to me."

Sherlock swallows. "But when it counted, she saved you and Mina. And me."

John laughs a bit through glistening tears in his eyes that refuse to fall. "I guess you both learnt something. At first, she would have destroyed everything and everyone who stood in the way of her and me being happy. _You_ would have _given up_ everything to make sure of the same." He clears his throat, finding his composure. "And don't think I don't know... what you were ready to give up. I'm not stupid. And I know you would have given up everything - including me - because you loved me."

Sherlock should have guessed that John would put two and two together about that _'six month mission'._ On occasion, he wonders if John would have tried to do anything about the outcome... but it never takes long for him to remember that of course John would have, and it wouldn't have taken six months.  
"I did and I do," he says quietly.

John nods again, looking into the darkness outside. "And then Mary was ready to do the same." He huffs, morbidly amused. "I guess I'm only allowed one set of destructive love like that." He raises an eyebrow and looks up at Sherlock with a small grin. "And that's the Mary I want Mina to hear about. A brave woman who loved us so much that she would do anything to make sure we can live a happy life."

Sherlock turns his body fully to face John, and John copies him. "I was never going to tell her any differently."

John looks at him for a long moment. "I love you deeply, Sherlock Holmes, and while this certainly isn't my preferred way to have come to this point, I wouldn't want it any other way."

Sherlock notices his hands tremble, so he takes John's in his and stares at their joint fingers.  
He thinks of the one present for John he has, the one he wasn't sure he would even give him on Christmas Day. The one he thought might be too soon to offer. The one he couldn't help but buy, nonetheless. The one he would proudly wear the counterpart of, should John accept it.

Once Sherlock's thoughts return to his head, he sees his thumb unconsciously run over John's left ring finger... He stops immediately and looks up, but John only smiles warmly at him.  
Perhaps... tomorrow won't be too soon.

The clanking in the kitchen stops, and they both peek at the door.

There are several ways to breach the topic of their relationship, now that it is time, and they both have thought of some of them, though never out loud and never together.

Then they exchange a look that quickly turns amused, and - Why the hell not, right? - they both lean in at the same time and kiss, their hands never letting go.

 


	9. Epilogue: Thirteen Months Later

Mycroft Holmes enters his office, and, seeing as he is expecting company, he goes straight for the liqueur cabinet. He has the feeling he might need it.

It's dark outside as well as inside, as is suitable for such clandestine meetings.

He pours himself a drink, and the glass cover of the decanter clinks as he puts it back on. He closes the cabinet and takes a sip of his excellent cognac. He studies the amber liquid for a moment, and then, without turning around...  
"It has taken you a lot longer to give into curiosity than I expected," he says calmly.

"It wasn't safe."

Mycroft allows a small huff before he turns around and switches on the lamp on his desk, brightening the room enough that he can see the outline of his visitor.  
"It still isn't. _Andrea_."

Mary steps away from her corner, closer to the desk and into the soft light. Her hair is dark and wavy, unlike the woman Mycroft has last seen.  
"I need to see some proof that you have kept your word. I don't trust you."

"We have that in common, then." He smiles coldly.

Mary's jaw sets. "I won't go near them, but I want you to prove that you have kept your end of the bargain."

Mycroft tilts his head. "Very well." He puts his glass on the desk. "John and Mina are doing well. You have just missed the child's second birthday, as I'm sure you're aware, and she is healthy, speaks rather a lot for her age and is inquisitive."

Mary nods slightly, then her eyes dart to the side. "And... John?"

Mycroft's smile turns a bit more sinister. "I see you have upheld your end of the bargain and did not try to monitor them."

She stares him down. "Every little thing that can be traced back to me is a danger to them. I know that much."

Mycroft has to concede that. After all, Mary is as useful to him as she is a risk. She has been made a pressure point once before, and he would rather that didn't happen again. It is good to know that she hasn't forgotten how dangerous knowledge can be.  
That hadn't been quite enough to keep Mary away this time, it would seem.

"John is doing well," Mycroft finally says. "I dare say he has never been happier." The gleeful tone of his voice is most likely beneath him, but this woman has caused him much more grievance than she has been of use, so he doesn't feel obligated to hold back. Too much.

Mary's eyes darken. "I suppose you have good reasons to ensure John's happiness," she says nonchalantly. "What with it being so closely tied to your brother's. I'm still not convinced that you would do everything in your power to protect my child if it ever came down to it."

Mycroft's benevolence will only reach so far (not far at all), and even the tiniest hint of amusement disappears from his features.  
"She has not been _your child_ in a long time, Andrea. I dare say she was merely the child of a woman who has never existed, and you have no one to blame but yourself."

He doesn't add that Mina might even be considered to be more _his_ child than she is Mary's, since that attachment is another fact to exploit, and he carefully keeps all the memories of Mina out of his expression. Memories like the one of a little more than one year prior. A little girl who deemed him important enough to say his name, nearly on a par with her parents in terms of importance.  
His brother's eyes had spelt out all the distaste at the child's choice of his name and all the expectations which Mycroft had better fulfil to every hopeful and trusting letter in young Mina's open face. _'Uncle Myco'_ would not and could not disappoint.

"I take care of my own," Mycroft allows himself to say out loud, his tone insinuating that Mary is lacking in that department. He doesn't quite keep out of his voice just how dangerous he can become when protective.

From one moment to the other, he visibly sheds his uncharacteristically expressive bearings, tilts his head and once more wears a smile with all the politeness of a rattle snake.  
"Of course, for obvious reasons, you still have concerns," he says and opens a drawer of his desk. "I have taken the liberty of compiling photographs for just this occasion, should it ever occur." And he has always been reasonably sure that it would, given enough time…  
He takes out a folder and hands it to her, the desk between them still physically and metaphorically marking the chasm between them, and she takes it.

She sits with the folder in hand. "Isn't it somewhat dangerous to have such a compilation in your desk…?" she asks with an accusing tone as if scolding a child.

Mycroft merely smiles. "Hardly. Many images include my brother, as John is the one to take most of the photographs." The smile widens. "He _is_ the nostalgic sort, our dear John, isn't he?"  
With that, he turns to refill his glass and then stands next to the window to look out, giving her some semblance of privacy.  
"Take your time to memorise them," he says helpfully. "You won't see them again."

Mycroft knows the photographs quite well. On occasion, he even gives into the temptation of looking at them himself. Very rarely, however, and not without ensuring that all doors are locked.  
Many pictures of Sherlock and Mina have indeed been taken by John, and there are quite a lot of those. Others include all three whenever Mrs Hudson insisted that a moment needed remembering. Other people make appearances as well, such as the often present DI Lestrade, even Mycroft himself can be seen in one of the pictures (looking distinctly uncomfortable with the child, but visibly making an effort to take an interest; personally, he doesn't like it much, but John always seems to cheer up when he sees it, so he has included it). Some images have been taken by CCTV, and some are even of a case or two, where Mina has been taken along for the ride.

"I believe Sherlock has often voiced his gratitude to John for allowing him to partake in raising Mina," Mycroft says on a whim. "A challenge, as it turned out, he was surprisingly suited for."  
He falls silent again.

Mycroft of course knows the order in which the photographs appear, but even if he hadn't, when Mary draws in a sharp breath through her nose, it is a dead giveaway. He cannot hold back a tiny smirk, and its reflection in the dark window amuses him.  
He still doesn't turn around when he says, "I am told mummy took this picture on Christmas Eve before last when young Mina was asleep." He can see Mary's reflection stare at the image. "Mummy and father were very pleased with this development."

Mycroft himself had been pleased as well. The intimate relationship between Sherlock and John had managed to give more stability to his brother, something that he knows well enough is hard to achieve. And if he was a sentimental sort - which he decidedly is not - he might even be inclined to admit that the kiss in the image is rather lovely.

He can see Mary's hands shake in the window's reflection when she continues looking through the photographs. Her expression changes as well, and she looks more and more like the woman John Watson must have fallen in love with than A.G.R.A. 

Mycroft is very familiar with that name and the file to go with it; has been for a long time now. Once he had realised his egregious oversight, he undid this mistake in record time. The results were… impressive.

To this day, John does not know about Mary and her past connections. Some of which are… No. John must not know. This tiny bit of ignorance Mycroft can condone; it would hardly change the past. Never mind that John's ignorance is one of the conditions Mary has voiced in exchange for her cooperation.

Mycroft also knows of Sherlock's efforts to store the information without constantly being exposed to it. He is not a fan of silly concepts such as Sherlock's mind palace, but if his brother assures him that the information is sufficiently shielded, he will take his word for it. After all, should these shields not hold, Mycroft has only promised not to uncover the identity and past of A.G.R.A., he has no control over what Sherlock does with the data he deduces.

When Mary reaches the last photograph, Mycroft turns to face her, but he remains by the window.

She doesn't move, merely looks at the image dejectedly and perhaps with some lingering fondness.

The image is of Sherlock and John's wedding, last October. It had been quite a lively affair that had lasted long past Mina's bedtime. Accordingly, in the image, John is lying on a sofa on his back with Mina sleeping on his torso, his head pillowed on Sherlock's lap who is sitting upright with one hand resting on Mina's back and the other running through John's hair.

"So, you see," Mycroft says, once more decidedly coldly, "you have no place here anymore." He is firm. Unmoving. "Even if your past would miraculously cease to be a threat, the ties you have once made cannot be unmade, and you will not, _ever_ , return to London again."

Her eyes flash and finally rise to meet his. "You would not want me as your enemy."

Mycroft merely smiles. "I have upheld my end of the bargain - with quite stunning results, I may add," the smile vanishes, "so uphold yours." He puts his glass on the window sill. "You are hardly an enemy to me, my dear, and do keep in mind that I have guaranteed the safety of your _family_ , not yours. Contingencies are in place should you fail to meet your end of the agreement, and, let me assure you, the unlikely event of my death would have no bearing on their execution."

She returns the images into their folder calmly, though Mycroft can easily read through that façade.

"I am willing to overlook this one breach of boundaries," he continues, "for old times' sake, if you will. Please make sure that it does not happen again."

It takes a long moment for her to come to a conclusion. Then she stands and puts the folder on his desk.  
"I won't return," she says, looking at him. "You have more than kept your end, that's true."

Mycroft smiles magnanimously. "I suppose a brief lack in your emotional control is excusable, given the news you've just received."

"Won't happen again," she says, matching the coldness in his demeanour. She is still, first and foremost, a professional.

"Excellent. I see we understand each other."

Mary nods once and walks to the door.  
Just before she leaves, however, she slightly tilts her head, though she doesn't turn fully to look at Mycroft.  
"I suppose I can't blame Sherlock for opening a window for John once I closed the door."

Since Mary can't see him, Mycroft's expression softens as he answers.

"My dear, what you failed to notice… is that this window has been open all along."

 

**End**

* * *

**BONUS:**

The picture above is photoshopped. But we were curious if a child her age would be afraid of a skull... [She's not XD](http://sorion.tumblr.com/post/99740408919/remember-the-picture-of-little-mina-at-the-end)

* * *

**If you like my writing, please share my post on my RL[tumblr](http://ursulakats.tumblr.com/post/166323102961/qs-key-is-now-available-for-pre-order-release).** It would mean the world to this author ♥  


(P.S. Don't feel like you're "stalking" me into RL. You're really not. And this is the only way for me to reach readers.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this journey ♥ I hope you enjoyed the bonus at the end ;)
> 
> Please leave a note on your way out :)


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